Kings of the Horizon
by Ailsa89
Summary: Companion piece to Garden of the Moon, but not much. The series of events set between Orodruin and the crowning of the King.
1. Darkness Afire

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Kings of the Horizon--  
  
From the final storm at Orodruin, to healing in Ithilien, to the crowning in Minas Tirith. What of the reunion of the Fellowship? How have their feelings changed since all that has happened during the War? Will things ever go back to what they were?  
  
~ Chapter One ~  
  
Fire was belched into the air set about with clouds of molten rock. Black flames quivered beneath the burning sky. All was afire, making the heat almost unbearable. Yet, amid all this ruin, two tiny figures knelt on a lone rock- and island on a sea of golden lava. Forehead was pressed to forehead, eyes were closed tight and their hands locked together in defiance of the wailing storm. They could hardly draw breath, for the air was clogged with smoke and sulphur. They gagged at the bitter stench of brimstone. All the while, their eyes remained shut. At least behind them there was no such hideous landscape.  
  
The world collapsed around them. Towers split and fell, while the mountains groaned as crumbling earth dragged them down. It was then, when every skyline was shattered, that one of the figures managed to speak, his lips stumbling over the words as if they were rocks.  
  
"It'll be alright."  
  
His companion made no answer, but seemed to let out a sigh, leaving a shadow of breath on the poisoned air.  
  
--  
  
Gandalf was almost beside himself with terror. Though he had searched the mountainside of Orodruin time and time again, the eagle beneath him soaring in and out of the clouds, there was still no sign of his beloved friends. In desperation, he had tried calling for them, saying that he was here to take them to safety. He constantly berated himself for ever letting such wondrous folk into Mordor to be scarred by its evil.  
  
"Mithrandir!"  
  
The wizard was shaken from his reverie by his eagle's cry. His fingers dug into the golden plumage.  
  
"Have you seen them?" he shouted, "Is there some sign, Gwahir?"  
  
"Below us!"  
  
Gandalf almost fell from his perch in his hurry to lean out and catch a glimpse of the hobbits. Sure as his charge's word, there they lay, their hands entwined and eyes closed. Gwahir swooped down, arching his wings back and forth to scatter the fog of smoke that almost blocked the figures from view. He lowered himself down onto the rocky ledge. Magma was licking at its edges and frothing over the lip of island. Gandalf struggled onto it, not caring if he came to harm. He bent down and ever so gently lifted the closest body and drew it close. It was Sam. No longer the stout, red- cheeked hobbit he had known. There were no wide honest eyes to greet him. If Gandalf had not hoped otherwise, he would have thought him dead. But he refused to let his mind dwell on that.  
  
"Mithrandir, we must hurry!" he heard Gwahir's frantic cry and he knew it was true. Already, he could hear the rending of stones at the approach of yet more lava. Flames erupted close by and Gandalf quickly placed Sam on the eagle's back. Then he turned and took a faltering step towards the other limp bundle. Frodo did not stir or make a sound when he was lifted. But Gandalf did not look down into his face. He found himself at a point of absolute fear. Though even in the worst of circumstances, he had managed to keep calm in both himself and others. But now, sheer panic coursed through him. What thanks was this? For all their efforts- and great, the wizard did not doubt them to be- these two hobbits were almost lost on a burning mountain and only ever honoured in memory.  
  
"Mithrandir!"  
  
Gwahir was already rising as the heat became too much for him. Gandalf grabbed hold of a wing and hauled himself painfully up onto the eagle's back. As the mount rose higher, he drew the two hobbits into his lap and held them close.  
  
"The world can be mended," he whispered, "But if we lose these heroes then we cannot find them again."  
  
The eagle heard his words but did not respond. Instead, he wheeled back into the sky, black with ashen clouds.  
  
--  
  
"Victory!"  
  
It was being sung to the blistering skies.  
  
"Victory!"  
  
Aragorn rose groggily to his feet, leaning heavily on the soldier beside him. There was something so peculiar about this scene. Maybe it was the unfamiliarity of it all. For too many years they had fought and too many lives had been lost. And yet, as the atmosphere glowed with heat, he knew it was over. He closed his eyes. Finally.  
  
"Aragorn! Aragorn!" came the frantic cries.  
  
His eyes snapped open again to see both Legolas and Gimli sprinting towards him. Thanking the soldier, he allowed himself to stumble forward into their embrace. They all sighed as one, each expressing their immense relief that the other still stood. When so many fell to blade and arrow, it was almost unbelievable to find that all three were alive. Able to turn their faces to their companions and smile until their jaws ached.  
  
"Frodo has succeeded," Legolas said quietly, to no one in particular. Gimli raised his eyes to the ragged horizon of mountains and shuddered.  
  
"That may be so," he muttered, "He and Samwise saved us not a moment too soon. But...if they were at hand to witness the destruction of the Ring..."  
  
"Do not speak of it, Gimli," the king snapped. He drew away and his gaze followed his companion's. "We cannot know what happened. Frodo knew all along the risk of what was to come. If he succeeded then maybe...maybe there is hope."  
  
"There has been hope for salvation throughout much of this War," replied Legolas, "And at last it has been granted. Now we must send our blessing to wherever our friends are now."  
  
They made to turn but found that none of them could take their eyes away. For a vast eagle had appeared over the highest peak, shining like a sliver of fallen sunlight against the darkness.  
  
"Gandalf returns!" Aragorn cried in delight.  
  
He leapt forward, now heedless of his wounds, and sprinted faster than he thought himself able, crying the wizard's name all the while. The great bird drew lower and the men scattered away to allow it landing space. But Gwahir's wings could not keep Aragorn at bay. He reached Gandalf's side the moment the claws had sunk into the earth. By the position of his companion, he was ready to be disappointed.  
  
"You did not find them?" he asked in a small voice. But it appeared that Gandalf ignored this statement because he merely said, a little breathlessly,  
  
"Take Samwise. I will bear Frodo. We must tend to them immediately."  
  
A sad broken bundle was passed down into Aragorn's arms. And, with Legolas and Gimli running up behind him, all three stared down in wonder at the grime-smeared face of their beloved Sam.  
  
~  
  
I'm not really a pyromaniac, just a little preoccupied. Hope you enjoyed it and that you will read further! 


	2. Sleep

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Lily Baggins: Delicious? What a wonderful way of describing it- thank you! Hope you enjoy ensuing chapters.  
  
Shirebound: Don't worry, we'll get Fanfiction to work someday. Maybe not now, maybe not tomorrow but someday. I'm so pleased you were drawn into it. Hehe, you liked that line? I can't resist throwing in a few "what if the hobbits hadn't been saved?"s in there.  
  
Heartofahobbit: Oh, thank you! It's always wonderful when you are able to visualise something clearly in your head, so it's heart-warming to know that my writing helped you with that. Thank you!  
  
MagicalRachel: I'm so glad the chapter cheered up your day- thank you so much for your lovely comments. I'm amazed too at the reaction this story has brought. Thank goodness that the Gandalf part came out OK, I was worried he didn't sound very book-like. Hope this chapter cheers you up as well!  
  
Lovethosehobbits: Heh, thank you, and I hope you enjoy this update!  
  
~ Chapter Two ~  
  
Merry could only stare at the two shells of his companions that lay on the bed in front of him. Pippin was sitting up uneasily on the opposite side of the pavilion, massaging his chest with his bruised fingers.  
  
"Merry?" he said quietly.  
  
His friend started and jumped round.  
  
"Oh, sorry, Pip," he answered with a smile, "Am I neglecting you?"  
  
"Not at all. You fuss too much as it is. No, I...well...look at them. That can't be them, can it?"  
  
"It can," Merry sighed, "It shouldn't be, though. You know, I've always taken to remembering them in a certain way. As if I've got a portrait of each of my friends and family painted into my mind; yes, your picture too. Smiling faces that always kept me going. No matter what evil I was facing, I always had my portraits. But Frodo and Sam have changed so very much from how I remember them."  
  
"You remember them the right way," replied the little hobbit stoutly but quickly softened his voice so as not to disturb his companions. Yet they seemed far beyond the real world. Frodo and San now appeared little more than statues, their alabaster faces set about with unkempt tangles of hair.  
  
"I wish they would wake up," Pippin grumbled, "I miss them terribly. Just sitting here and looking at them is no fun at all."  
  
"Yes, it will be so much better when they wake. I can just imagine their voices. But I don't have a clue as to what they'll tell us. We know so little of what happened to them."  
  
"I wonder what Frodo will make of me being a proper knight."  
  
Merry grinned and came across to give his cousin a hug- Pippin noticed that he had taken to doing this more often than usual- saying,  
  
"Knowing Frodo, he'll be almost too proud to speak."  
  
"Poor Sam, though," Pippin replied, a little unhappily.  
  
"How so?" Merry asked as he drew away from the embrace.  
  
"He's already taken to calling me Master. He'll get in such a fluster about how to address me now I've got yet another title."  
  
"Ah, yes. I think we will have to convince him to give up any formality towards us. I certainly don't feel like a Master or Mister. Funnily enough, I feel like a proper Meriadoc now."  
  
"I feel like a Peregrin too," Pippin laughed, "Perhaps Sam will agree to that. Afterall, he can't deny us our proper names, surely!"  
  
For a few moments, the pair fell silent. The dawn breeze scuttled through the cloth entrance, sweeping round in a warm arc to fill the tent. It was like the breath that neither Frodo nor Sam had taken for so very long. The sky above was swimming with colours, seeping across for the first time over Mordor. But the friends of the Ringbearers would look up and curse. Nothing should be so beautiful while the bravest and most beautiful of all were still in peril. In the other pavilions, when they awoke, men strained forward and gripped the sleeves of the medics, asking in frightened whispers if "the little ones" had stirred. So far, the answer remained the same.  
  
The breath retreated back into the lips of the atmosphere and the material of the abode stilled. Frodo and Sam had not changed. There was always some delirious hope that, with any tiny change or event, something would happen. Anything. But it was the same. Merry shook his head to himself.  
  
"As long as Sam wakes up, I don't mind what he calls us. But...come to think of it, there is one thing that I would miss if he stopped the formalities. His Mister Frodo."  
  
Pippin gave his cousin an involuntary squeeze. It was such a warm and familiar phrase and it conjured up vivid pictures of Bag End and the two friends perched on the bench outside, laughing about the world and its peculiar habits.  
  
'That shan't ever change,' the hobbits thought, 'Even after this terrible war, there will still be dear Sam and his Mister Frodo.'  
  
--  
  
All four hobbits were fast asleep. Aragorn peered inside the pavilion to make out their hazy shapes against the white of the sheets. Overhead, the day was beginning to lengthen among the clouds, sending out wide circles of light like the ripples in a pool. He sighed lightly. This waiting was intolerable. Nothing he did or gave seemed to be having effect. He could quite easily cure the visible wounds, but what of those still buried inside? When Gandalf had pressed his hands to Frodo's temples, he had quietened for a great many hours, though the hobbit had cried out severally and writhed under the touch. At last, removing his hands, Gandalf had no words to describe what he had seen. The utter blackness of despair that had taken Frodo for so very long. The wheel of fire winding clearly along the path of Mordor, weighing him down with every step and dragging him into the rock-encrusted earth. But now that the pictures of its horror had been shown, it appeared that the burden was less for the little hobbit. He accepted the blessing of sleep gratefully and was pressed no more.  
  
Aragorn entered as silently as he could and went to Frodo's bedside. He longed to see a smile waiting for him. He longed for the bright eyes to open and sparkle with delight. Yet, of course, the haggard sunken mask of sleep was still being worn.  
  
"What more can I do for you?" the man breathed, putting a hand to the side of Frodo's face. There came no answer.  
  
--  
  
The waiting was terrible. For the Ringbearers' companions, it was agony. Each day that passed lengthened tenfold by their continuing rest. Surely, as Pippin often complained, surely they had slept for long enough. They had to wake them now. But Gandalf was adamant. He had seen things beyond comprehension behind Frodo's eyes, things that were ever imprinted on his soul and could never be removed. It was impossible to imagine such pain and heartache. Yet they had survived. Now, it was down to his friends to be patient and along the terror to sink from their memory. To bob below the surface, at least for now. A week went by. Though it became an eternity for the Fellowship. Often they would sit by the beds of Frodo and Sam and tell them of the goings on in Ithilien. Say how they were and how they were feeling. They would describe the rolling hills and the vibrant flowers that burst forth from the banks of the Forbidden Pool, now forbidden no longer.  
  
Days struggled on but they now seemed little more than obstacles. Aragorn tended Frodo and Sam with powerful devotion, not once letting his concentration slip. He pressed poultices into the scars on Frodo's back. He bound Sam's scarred brow with soft white cloth. Their healing sleep wove a peace around the pavilion that none had felt before. Though the friends still worried and fretted every day for their companions, they still felt calm whenever they sat by the bedsides and looked into the faces of two who had sacrificed so much.  
  
So it was that Gandalf found Pippin one morning, weeping inconsolably into his hands and murmuring over and over in ragged breaths,  
  
"Why did they have to go?" 


	3. Stemming the Tears

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Shirebound: Hehe, thank you! It's lovely to know which parts of the story you enjoyed most. I confess, the "dear Sam and his Mister Frodo" sentence was one of my favourites too ;-)  
  
Shire Baggins: I agree- I love the stories of Frodo and Sam's waking, because it's so much fun reading the different reactions that people write. I'm so relieved to hear that you liked my Merry and Pippin, as they tend to end up too young for their age when I describe them! Thank you for your lovely comments.  
  
Cstini: Yay! Hello again, great to hear from you again. Yes, poor Sam and Frodo, my angst never fails to approach the traumatic. Thank you! And I hope you enjoy the rest of the story.  
  
MagicalRachel: I read the first part of your review and knew you were going to say something along those lines :-) Hehe. I'm amazed I've been able to update in so short a time due to the evilness of school. You like Merry's portraits? Oh, yay, you can't imagine how wonderful that is to hear! I'm ecstatic you're enjoying this so much.  
  
Bookworm2000: You are so dedicated, Bookworm. You're a wonder. Can't believe you're still willing to dive into yet another of my fics- huge thank you! :-D  
  
~ Chapter Three ~  
  
Without missing a beat, Gandalf knelt down before the distraught hobbit and brought him into his arms. For a long time, Pippin was unable to more than sob into his friend' robe, burying his face in the shoulder that had borne a few weights greater than a little one's tears.  
  
After a while, the flow of tears reached a cessation and Gandalf wrapped his arms more securely round Pippin's frame.  
  
"Now then," he said, "Shall we go and find Merry?"  
  
"No...no, it's alright, Gandalf. It's stupid for me to cry like this, I know. But I...I..." For a minute, Pippin looked as if he was going to weep again. Then he quickly shaking himself, taking in his companion's warmth and saying in a small voice, "I miss them so very much."  
  
It poured out of him like rain from a stormcloud. He put the emotions of the Fellowship into shaky stumbling words. Everyday, looking into the faces of two he loved most, it had become more than one so small could bear.  
  
"They don't deserve this! They wouldn't have to be put into a sleep if things had turned out differently. I mean, Frodo would never want to hurt anyone. Though the Shire made fun of him and all...and all, he would never rise to an argument. Not ever! The only time I've heard him shout at someone is when the Sackville-Bagginses came and ruined poor Sam's garden. He yelled lots then, because he knew how sad Sam would be. Merry and I had to wait inside till it was all over and Sam himself had to come and sort it out because Lotho refused to leave the garden. It was awful! But then Sam came and he sorted it all out. He's really good at that, Gandalf, really good. Whatever went wrong. There was even this time when I set the windmill on fire when my lantern got too hot to hold and I threw it away and it hit the sails and then the miller got furious! But Sam came and he talked to the miller and he apologised so much that the miller couldn't possibly say no and he even got my lantern back and then he sent me back to Frodo.  
  
Now look, Gandalf! Frodo can't whisper, let a lone shout and Sam can't sort anything out now that they're like that. I know I shouldn't be crying again, it's stupid, I'm sorry, but I couldn't stop looking at them and thinking that I'm not going to be able to get Frodo to yell at me and whatever happens, I'm not going to have Sam wake up and put it all to rights. Frodo might not ever give me a hug again! And that's terrible- it's awful. It's not fair! I know, I shouldn't say it because life isn't fair and lots of people have died and lots of people are hurt too but it's true! It isn't fair! Frodo and Sam are so nice. Nice, wonderful, brave and loyal. I know, it's a wicked thing to do but sometimes I wish that a couple of ordinary soldiers were lying there. I know that I shouldn't because all the soldiers have fought and I'll wager that they're all nice, wonderful and brave and loyal but it shouldn't be happening to my friends because they're mine and I don't want anything taking them from me! It isn't fair! It isn't fair!"  
  
By the end of it, Gandalf's back was sodden and Pippin was shaking with breathless sobs as thoughts he wished he had never had rushed before his eyes.  
  
Both of them wept, each holding the other with trembling hands, the faces of the Ringbearers imprinted behind their eyes. No, it was not fair. No, they did not deserve this. No one did. The wizard and hobbit had convinced themselves that it would all be alright and they would be glad of it in the end. But here, in these hiccuping moments, it did not seem so. They cried together, muffling their ragged breaths, eternally grateful for the presence of the other.  
  
Gandalf pulled himself together first. He was doing this far too much of late, he chastised himself. Yet how hobbits never ceased to surprise. Though they had an unfailing ability to fill one with joy and forget their sorrows, they could also invite tears. He doubted this was a purposeful task but his heart ached with physical pain. When he came and looked into those calm faces, he saw regret. Regret at sending such beautiful, pure friends into the wilderness. And it was his own doing. He would never have pressed such a thing on frail Bilbo. There could only have been Frodo to bear it and only Sam to help him. Yet surely there could have been another way, he circled back in his mind, surely they should not have enduring so great a hardship. Hobbits were the last folk he wished to see the blackest terrors of the world. He closed his eyes against the pain of it all.  
  
No. The word rang in his mind. He might weep now but when Frodo and Sam woke, he would ask them. Only they could know if the decision made was right. What with all the commotion going on in Ithilien and word of concern from Minas Tirith, he knew that the last thing either of them wanted was to be quizzed about their nightmares. But when they were willing to share their thoughts on the quest, many minds would be laid to rest. Gandalf rocked Pippin back and forth in his lap until he discovered that the little hobbit's breathing had evened out and his eyes had closed.  
  
"There, you silly Took," he murmured, "Sleep can be a wonderful healer. So let it take its course. Let us all rest until our wounds are mended. I promise you the world will seem brighter when you wake."  
  
Ever so gently, he got to his feet and walked across to Pippin's bed, laying him down and pulling the quilt up to his chin. Then, he used the sleeve of his white robe to wipe away the few remaining tears.  
  
--  
  
Aragorn was very tired. He felt as if he had not slept in an eternity, though he had only been up one night. Wearily, he ducked into the pavilion of the hobbits and flopped down on the chair by Frodo's bed.  
  
"What a day," he muttered, "What a miserable day. Frodo, it was truly awful. Fever is rising among the soldiers and it stirs up panic all the while. We've spent most of the day trying to separate them into different areas so not to let it spread but nearly all of them are too ill to move. Oh dear. And Gandalf is doing his very best to keep everything calm and orderly but I really can't expect him to handle this alone and I'm just useless."  
  
He grinned down at the small figure and then let out a yawn.  
  
"Goodness! Listen to me. I ought to be getting back to my own bed now. The Valar know what will come tomorrow."  
  
The man bent down to kiss Frodo's forehead then retreated to his chair, leaning back with a sigh.  
  
"Sleep well," he murmured.  
  
Unfortunately, after saying this, he found that he was too tired to attempt another rise from the seat. So he did not leave as he had intended and return to his tent. Instead, he drifted from consciousness to consciousness, sinking deeper and deeper under the veil of slumber.  
  
"Ara..."  
  
He jerked awake at once. Aragorn sat bolt upright, running a hand through his hair and shaking his head to clear his muggy thoughts. He stared down at the pale face to witness a tiny crease forming between Frodo's brows and his name being formed on the hobbit's lips. It was slightly clearer this time.  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
"Yes, Frodo, yes, I'm here," the man replied, trying to keep his voice from trembling. This was no dream. It could not be. In his rising excitement, he slapped himself on the arm. There was a sting of pain and he could barely contain the shout of joy that longed to explode from him. "It's Aragorn, Frodo. I'm here. I'm here."  
  
The eyelids fluttered almost imperceptibly. But to the eyes of one who had searched every waking moment for the movement, it was an undeniable action. Slowly, sparks of blue appeared behind the lashes and then whole wide pupils, gazing up in confusion.  
  
"You're here? But what are you doing here? Did you come and find me?"  
  
"I never stopped searching, dear Frodo," Aragorn wept, drawing his friend into his arms, "I never stopped searching."  
  
~  
  
I apologise if Pippin's speech was a bit overwhelming, but if you can imagine him just sobbing out more and more words as they come to him (I typed the first things that came into my head at top speed to try and convey the feeling) then I think it's less daunting. Just skip it if it's a bit much, :-P. 


	4. Black Dawn

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Aemilia Rose: My fanfiction hero! Thank you very much and I hope you continue to enjoy :-)  
  
Shirebound: I'm so pleased you like Pippin's "outburst". Five minutes worth of rambling...that's my kind of writing. Heh, I'm only writing the one- liners for you now!  
  
MagicalRachel: I'm sorry! I didn't mean to make you cry! *sends over jelly beans for comfort* Glad you liked the 'Pippin-verse'! I am so relieved it didn't overwhelm. Yay and thank you!  
  
Bookworm2000: Aw, Sam's turn will come around, I promise. He shall see the light! Thank you for your lovely comments and hope you enjoy.  
  
Warning: Little bit of movieverse at the end; I am a self-confessed softie for that scene in The Two Towers and thought I would pay homage to it here. :-)  
  
~ Chapter Four ~  
  
"He's awake?" Merry cried, leaping up from his perch on the hilltop.  
  
At first, the soldier was too breathless to speak, but he managed to choke out the rest of his message after a few gulps of air,  
  
"King Elessar bids that you leave your post...he says that...Lord Frodo has asked for you."  
  
As the last word left his lips, the hobbit was away, running as fast as his short legs would allow him. Light was spilling from the east and the sky burned clear and white overhead. Merry stumbled past a gathering of sentries, who called out to him.  
  
"Hoy! Master Meriadoc! Why do you leave your post?"  
  
"Frodo's awake! He's alright and he's awake!"  
  
He rushed past their expressions of rising joy, down the slopes by the waterfall and onto the pasture beyond. He ran through the clusters of tents and pavilions to the one he had returned to every day after his watch. There was a crowd assembling outside it and a thrum of excited voices buzzed in the air. Merry dived into the nearest opening of legs, pushing his way through to the king's side.  
  
"Aragorn!" he cried, "Can I see him? Is he well? Please, Aragorn-"  
  
"Merry?"  
  
The man smiled down at his friend's astonished face, yet it was not he who had spoken. Aragorn pushed the hobbit gently forward, where he found himself pulled down into Frodo's arms.  
  
"Oh, Merry, your face," he kept laughing, "If so many people went to so much effort to bring me home, will you at least honour me with a smile!"  
  
His cousin burst into both laughter and tears, giggling himself into a frenzy while tears poured down his face. Bright eyes gazed back at him that had been closed for an eternity. The world began revolving again and the sky lit up with a thousand stars. Awake! Awake! Merry squeezed Frodo with all his might until there was a little gasp and he was forced to draw away. Though the bones in his face were now prominent behind the skin and his eyes were hollowed like dark pathways, Frodo felt warm to the touch and the light within him was rekindled. He no longer looked so wan or sickly. Life burned in every fibre of him.  
  
"You're the silliest hobbit I know!" Merry exclaimed at last, producing another chuckle from Frodo, "Taking off with Sam into the wilderness and sorting out dark purposes all by yourselves. I mean, honestly, you're as bad as Bilbo!"  
  
"Wonderful!"  
  
Pippin chose that moment to come storming into the tent in much the same way as his cousin, only pausing to take in a breath and stare in awe at Frodo. Then he lunged forward and took the frail figure in a warm embrace. The largest smile in the world was plastered over his face.  
  
"Oh, Frodo, you're a marvel! Thank you, thank you, thank you!"  
  
"Whatever for, Pip?"  
  
"For coming back, of course! You're safe and you'll never go away again..." he pulled away a moment, grinning at his companions, "There's a hundred thousand things we need to tell one another. We have met the most extraordinary people and seen even more extraordinary places."  
  
Though eager to give full response to this, Frodo's throat felt raw and there was a vague sense of something missing...something very wrong and out of place, though for the life of him he could not think what. If only things would stop jumbling inside his head and he could understand what all the fuss was about. But he was exhausted. All he knew was that his cousins were beside him, which meant that only joy could fill his heart. So he gratefully accepted Pippin's words as if they were wine, drinking up every wondrous sound.  
  
"...Oh, it was good enough for any story, you should have seen it! All the ents marching towards Isengard. It was frightening but well worth it. They went up to the dam that Saruman made and- Merry, go on, you tell it better than I do."  
  
"Alright then. Well, the ents just tore off the barricades and pulled away the boulders as if they were just the odd piece of fallen rock. And the water poured out in this great cascade. Everything white! Treebeard, who we were still clinging to, had to move very fast- fastest I've ever seen him- to avoid getting swept away! Then, afterwards, of course..."  
  
Frodo's mind wandered slightly. He did not mean to stop listening. Truth to tell, he was amazed by all that they had achieved and it certainly was good enough for any story. But there was still that annoying nagging thought at the back of his mind. Something was wrong. Something was dreadfully wrong. It was as if...Frodo could hardly explain it himself. Part of him that he was sure had been there before was gone. A great hole gaped in the recesses of his mind. The memory of a ringing voice...  
  
*You will be lost without me...*  
  
He snapped back to reality at the sound of a sharp cry. Merry and Pippin were staring at him. What on earth- then Frodo sluggishly realised that it had been his own voice. But that voice had been so clear! He was trembling now and he put a hand to his brow. There was a deeply uncomfortable feeling that the crowd was watching him with saucer eyes.  
  
"I'm sorry," he gasped, "I don't know where that came from. I'm sorry, I didn't mean to...both of you, please, stop looking at me like that. I'm alright, honestly."  
  
Merry shook his head firmly, breaking out of his trance and saying,  
  
"No. _We're_ sorry, Frodo. You've only just woken up and we shouldn't be berating you with our tales so soon. Come on, Pip, if we go now then we can leave him on a cliffhanger."  
  
Pippin's dark expression instantly brightened and he nodded enthusiastically.  
  
"Yes! We can berate you later, can't we, Frodo?"  
  
"I would love to be berated," the hobbit laughed. Merry winced at the sound. It was so thin and hoarse. He had not noticed it in all the excitement of his arrival. But he quickly retreated along with Pippin. Aragorn snapped out of his own reverie and shut his parted lips only to open them again in order to explain the need for Frodo's peace. The crowd backed away at once, nodding and acquiescing to the idea. Soon, the pavilion was left empty again. Only Aragorn remained behind to tend to Frodo.  
  
"Forgive me," he said, "I did not mean for things to go so awry. Do you wish to be alone?"  
  
"No!"  
  
The man took a step backwards, startled at the vehemence of the reply. Frodo was shaking so badly now that he could hear the patter of the bed shuddering on the grass. He gazed up beseechingly at the king.  
  
"No, I am glad you let them come," he said, voice quieter now, "To see so many faces is marvellous. Though I do not understand what's come over me..." There was the shimmer of waves in the ocean of his eyes, "What is missing, Aragorn? I feel as if a part of me is torn in two and yet I cannot remember why or how."  
  
Aragorn knelt but did not attempt to take his friend's hand as he may have done in the past. In as gentle a tone as he could muster, he said,  
  
"Frodo, the Ring is gone."  
  
There was a frightening flash of emotions that passed over Frodo's face one after the other. First confusion, realisation and then pure horror. His hand went instinctively to his neck, grasping frantically for the chain. Aragorn watched the scene in misery. There was nothing under sun nor moon that he could do to aid Frodo's suffering. There was nothing that could have prepared him for the pain of its loss.  
  
When he looked again, he saw that the hobbit was staring down at his maimed hand. It had grieved and puzzled the Fellowship. The finger had been cut clean in two- taken with one swipe of some blade or weapon. Frodo regarded it for a long while, blanching heedlessly. He swallowed hard.  
  
"It was taken from me. I am glad of that."  
  
"Glad?" Aragorn could not help but exclaim. Frodo did not look up this time.  
  
"I could not have destroyed It," he answered calmly, "It had possessed me beyond recall. Yes...yes, I am glad It is gone."  
  
Then, as sudden thought shook him to the core. He felt bitterly ashamed that his mind had been too wrapped up in the Ring to even remember his dearest friend.  
  
"Sam. Sam, where is he?"  
  
Aragorn nodded across to the other bed and was relieved to see a smile coil over Frodo's features.  
  
"Samwise the Brave," he murmured under his breath.  
  
"What was that?" the king asked.  
  
Frodo grinned at him.  
  
"That's my Samwise the Brave. He survived everything and held on for my sake. Samwise the Brave...Frodo wouldn't have got far without Sam..."  
  
~  
  
Forgive me if the chapter confused- that is my huge failing, but I really wanted to get across Frodo's dizziness and bewilderment upon waking. I'm sorry, I'm so pretentious... 


	5. Rainbows

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Shirebound: Heh, I see I've induced quite a bit of sighing. It means so much that you're enjoying this. I hope the story continues being so willing to be told!  
  
Aemilia Rose: Aw, thank you! Are you a Sam fan too then? He's such a sweetheart and I should wake him up in this chapter. Sorry for not updating sooner!  
  
Bookworm2000: I'm so pleased you liked the last line. That scene is a huge favourite of mine :-D Hmm, thank you for the idea, think you've inspired some hobbit angst...  
  
MagicalRachel: Alright, I'm sorry, I'll stop talking :-P Heh, I know! I missed Sam, so he should crop up in this chapter. Good luck at Sheffield! You're going to do great.  
  
Senni: I am glad! As long as the chapter worked, then that's OK. "I can never get enough post-Mordor hobbit angst" I shall try not to disappoint! Thanks very much for your lovely review and, in answer to your question: it's kind of an AU story already, but yes, it's going to move about it and go very mad. Mwa ha!  
  
Trust No One: Thank you! I've currently been reading quite a few Cormallen fics- including Shirebound's drabble- and got inspired to do one myself. I'm thrilled you liked Aragorn's character- thanks again!  
  
This chappie dedicated to MagicalRachel for her unfailing support and her new step into the wide world. Don't know what I would have done without you!  
  
~ Chapter Five ~  
  
Aragorn stayed with Frodo until the hobbit drifted off to sleep. The world spun on, if a little sleepily. He smiled at the comforting fall and rise of his friend's chest, an action that he had missed for a great length of time. Frodo looked almost the same as he had in Bree, all those life-ages ago.  
  
"Aragorn?"  
  
He turned to see a little fact at the tent entrance.  
  
"Hmm? What is it, Merry? It's alright, you can come in, he's asleep."  
  
Merry came in and stood awkwardly by the king's chair, fumbling with his hands and looking at the ground. He cleared his throat but said nothing. It seemed he was getting up the courage to say something.  
  
"What is it?" Aragorn asked gently.  
  
"Well," Merry replied, still a little hesitant, "I know that Frodo's feeling a bit, well, confused at the moment, what with all these new faces and such. That's why I'm not sure what he'd make of things that have...changed."  
  
The man frowned.  
  
"What are you getting at?"  
  
"I was wondering what you've told him. For instance, did you mention Gandalf?"  
  
"Gandalf came and spoke to him. I've never seen anyone so amazed in all their lives! But I think he was a little too sleepy to really understand why he should be. No doubt things will be a bit clearer after time."  
  
"Yes. Alright. Well. That's fine. And did you tell him about Boromir?"  
  
"I did. It was the same reaction. He told us about the confrontation too. It seems that Boromir gave him the burst he needed to set off for Mordor in the first place."  
  
"Ah. Interesting. Well. And...what about...well..."  
  
"I told him about the Ring," said Aragorn, finally grasping Merry's train of thought. The hobbit's face creased into lines of age that should not have been there.  
  
"That can't have been much fun," he said dryly, "He hardly needed to hear that. Not after...What did he say?"  
  
Aragorn glanced back to the bed anxiously, rubbing his hand up and down his leg absently as his mind wandered from one unpleasant memory to the next. There would be many more times like that, where Frodo would be lost in the dark with no one to give him light. But surely he had to know.  
  
"He was glad to be rid of it," he answered simply.  
  
Merry's eyebrows almost rose up into his hairline.  
  
"He said _that_?"  
  
"He said that."  
  
The little knight fell silent once more, unable to fill the air with struggling words. His eyes glazed as he looked to the bed, as if he was seeing further and deeper than the pale figure beneath the sheets. Frodo stirred and he broke out of his reverie.  
  
"Sorry, Aragorn. I was just little preoccupied with it. I'll go and get some food for you both. You will tell me if Sam..."  
  
Aragorn's face crumpled in mock horror.  
  
"Meriadoc, how could you doubt me!"  
  
--  
  
Sam felt...he could barely describe it. Warm, that was it. Warmth from the mountain, no doubt. For a few moments, he savoured it. At least it was a refreshing respite from the chill wind that usually woke him on the black plains. But then where was his Master? Sam's eyes snapped open at this and he drew in a gasping breath. He was surprised to find white above him. There was no fog of mealy grey or close sticky air. He reached up a hand towards the whiteness but found he was unable to touch it. He dropped his hand and discovered, to his further consternation, that someone had placed a sheet over him. He went over the contents of his pack in his head. He could not for the life of him remember putting such a thing in there.  
  
"Master?" he said quietly and immediately regretted it. His throat burned and his tongue felt like a furry piece of lead. Swallowing against the stiffness in his chest, he sat up. The whiteness was everywhere. Even a strange white figure sitting across from him and a white bed a few steps away.  
  
"Oh," he breathed, as things began to sink in, "Oh, you wretched Gamgee! No, no, no! Useless wretch I am! Oh, Gollum's gone and killed me. I knew it! I knew it! But Mister Frodo had to go all soft. Frodo! I can't have left him, not on his own!"  
  
There was a murmur of sound, which brought Sam's head round fast on his shoulders. The bed next to him rose and the blankets on it unfurled like ship's sails to reveal a face beneath it. There, amid the unblemished sea of linen, Frodo's fair face looked truly elvish. No line between his brows. No worried murmuring from his lips. It was as if all burdens had been lifted from him. Sam hurriedly pulled himself together and began tearing off his own covers. He swung his legs round and down and tried to stand up. But his feet refused to support him. He felt as if he was trying to walk on clouds. He fell with a frustrated cry, only to be caught in yet more white.  
  
"Honestly, Samwise, you wake up after weeks of sleeping and then the first thing you try and do is stand up! Ridiculous hobbit!"  
  
"I'm sorry, Gandalf, but..."  
  
Sam blinked and went over the sentence again in his head. A face appeared in front of him.  
  
"Gandalf? Aren't you dead?"  
  
The wizard laughed as he helped the bemused hobbit back into bed. It was the sound of bells chiming and a thousand voices singing in Sam's ears. It was better than rainbows and sunshine. It was better than all the music of the elves. It was more beautiful than elves themselves even. As soon as his head rested on the pillow, he sat up again, heedless of the dizzying effect this had on him as he wrapped his arms round Gandalf.  
  
"Oh, Gandalf, Gandalf!" he kept saying, "Sun and stars, it's really you! You ain't gone!"  
  
"No indeed, my dear friend, I am here and so are you, I see. Even after all the dreadful things that good-for-nothing Ringbearer got you into."  
  
"Gandalf! You mustn't say such things!"  
  
"Ah," the wizard said with a sparkle in his eye that could have rivalled Pippin's, "You are a most forgiving soul, Samwise. And I trust there are many things you wish to explain to me. Before you ask, yes, Frodo is safe and well."  
  
"Thank goodness..." Sam gazed up into his friend's eyes and tightened his hold on him, "He was awful brave, Gandalf. Even when things were truly awful, he was the bravest hobbit you ever saw!"  
  
He drew away a moment to examine Frodo's face, making silent sure that there was no unusual movement or cry. He smiled.  
  
"That's my Mister Frodo," he said proudly, "Frodo the Brave...I wouldn't have got far without him, I can tell you that, Gandalf. But, wait...wait one moment, how did I come to be here? If you're not dead then I don't think I am, 'lest I'm a ghost or some such." He cast his companion a wary glance. "I'm not a ghost, am I?"  
  
"Certainly not! My dear Samwise, you are very much a whole hobbit, if not more so."  
  
"Well, that's alright then. But then where am I? How'd I get here? This isn't Mordor by any stretch."  
  
"This," Gandalf swung one arm round and gestured to the entrance of the pavilion, "Is Ithilien, where you briefly stayed, I understand. You were brought by Lord Gwahir of the eagles from the Mountain of Fire, at the end of the War of the Ring and at the end of Mordor itself. The Ring is destroyed. You are among friends."  
  
Sam laughed. And to Gandalf's ears, it was the sound of bells chiming and a thousand voices singing. It was better than rainbows. 


	6. A Hobbitpile

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Aemilia Rose: Aw, I'm delighted you liked Sam. He's so much fun to write about. Hehe, *hands you more pics of Sam to hug*  
  
Shirebound: Ta for the correction- my mistakes could add a number of twists to the story! So pleased you enjoyed Sam's awakening. It was tricky- how would you come to terms with such contrasting surroundings- but well worth it.  
  
Bookworm2000: Yep! That's why Sam and Frodo are so close. It all makes sense now: they're telepathic. Heh, you can put that on your CV "...often inspires hobbit angst in reviews..."  
  
Monica: Thank you so much for your lovely comments. Yes, there is plenty more to come, I'm afraid I'm a sucker for cliffhangers :-P You made my day and I very much hope you enjoy these ensuing chapters!  
  
~ Chapter Six ~  
  
Although Sam had not expected such, he was still very sleepy. Soon after his reunion with Gandalf, he drifted back in slumber, being careful to keep his face turned to Frodo. The wizard then quietly left to inform the others of his brief awakening.  
  
The pavilion was quiet and still, with only murmur of deep breathing that the breeze had not heard for many long days. It swept in and picked up the sound, spiriting it away, spreading it to the waving green world beyond. And the tree branches swayed and the flowers strained at their roots. The leaves were whisked from their places and twirled about to the very entrance of the tent to hear it for themselves. The Ringbearer had awoken! The Gardener had awoken! Ones they had seen pass this way long times before. The leaves fluttered inside, along with two pairs of furry feet that came hurrying in.  
  
"Sam!" their owners cried, "Sam!"  
  
"Be quiet, you two," Gimli growled behind them, "Gandalf said he was sleeping."  
  
"Oh, he's slept forever," Pippin complained. He was most irritated to have missed his friend's rising. All he wanted to do was throw his arms round Sam and thank him a hundred times over for saving his cousin.  
  
"He's hardly going to mind if it's _us_, after all," Merry agreed tersely. But Gimli was adamant.  
  
"You heard Gandalf well enough. Let Samwise be. He will not disappear."  
  
"He can sleep any time he likes!"  
  
"Not with you around, Meriadoc. Now stop this and come with me. Surely you can wait a few hours before disturbing him. Come along."  
  
"I refuse to come along."  
  
"Please let us wake him!" cried Pippin, "He won't mind!"  
  
"No! I will not have this hobbit woken!"  
  
"Sam won't mind!" both friends protested.  
  
"You will not wake him!"  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Because I said so!"  
  
"We're going to wake him!"  
  
"Bless me, can't you make up your minds whether you're going to wake him or not without bringing down the whole tent?" came a small voice from Sam's bed.  
  
"Sam!" Pippin exclaimed delightedly. He turned and leapt up onto the end of the bed and crawled up to give the weary looking gardener a hug, Merry soon running round to join him and creating a veritable hobbitpile on the blankets. The dwarf shook his head and came lumbering round to prise Pippin away and get a good look at his companion.  
  
"I can't apologise enough for letting these clowns wake you, my friend, but I must admit that I myself have been quite eager to see your eyes open again," he said with a smile.  
  
Sam nodded appreciatively, "Well, thank you for trying, Master Gimli."  
  
He was blinking severally and staring round at the tent.  
  
"Are you alright?" Pippin asked tentatively, worried that his friend would have the same reaction as Frodo.  
  
"Oh, yes," Sam cried at once, "I've never been happier. But I'm still getting used to it. Feels like forever that I've been waking up with a black sky above me, rocks underneath me and that mountain looming up. Don't you worry about me, Mr. Pippin, I'm quite alright where I am."  
  
He suddenly released the hobbit and looked at him carefully.  
  
"That's odd. Somehow...somehow you don't look like a Mr. Pippin anymore. No offence meant," he added hurriedly. But there were only more smiles on his companions' faces, brighter and more alive than anyone remembered them.  
  
"Well, then," Merry said elatedly, "I think you deserve to hear about that. And, of course, you haven't asked why we're so tall!"  
  
"And so roguishly handsome," added Pippin.  
  
"I had noticed your height," Sam laughed, "But I can't say that you've changed much in way of looks."  
  
"In my opinion, the story of how they got so horribly tall is a lot better too," Gimli said with a raise of his eyebrows.  
  
Merry and Pippin jumped up onto the bed and were just about to launch into their daring escape into Fangorn when something visibly dawned on Sam. He swung his legs round and stood shakily up. Gimli quickly caught him by the arm and steadied him. The friends exchanged confused glances that quickly turned into understanding as Sam stumbled across to where Frodo slept.  
  
--  
  
"Mister Frodo..."  
  
Frodo stirred from his warm haze of sleep. The things around him took on distinct shapes and dimensions. A familiar hand was at his brow and he reached up to touch it. Fingers curled round his, the touch so gentle that he felt as if he could sleep forever in the hollow of the hand. But instead, he let the radiance of existence claim him and he opened his eyes. Above him stood Sam. Sam, who had woken him every black morning, and pillowed his head every cold night. The only person he knew who had carried him on his own broken back.  
  
Without meaning to, Frodo burst into tears. He lunged forward and threw his arms round Sam's waist, clinging to him desperately.  
  
"You're alright! You're alright!"  
  
Sam sat down beside him, bringing him up to his shoulder and smiling at him.  
  
"'Course I am," he said quietly, "So are you, me dear! Didn't I say we would be? Look, Merry and Pippin have come to wake us up. Master Gimli says he tried to stop them but you know those two are unstoppable once they get going."  
  
Frodo quickly staved off any more tears. He noticed the gathering on the other bed and grinned widely at them.  
  
"Yes! The rest of the story. Yes, you must finish that."  
  
On cue, the hobbits on the opposite bed launched into the tale with renewed vigour. Gimli watched in contentment as they talked and shared their experiences with one another.  
  
"...A giant spider?"  
  
"A giant spider."  
  
"And you mean it just leapt out on you?"  
  
"The most horrible thing that ever happened to me. I don't think I've ever been more terrified. The next thing I knew, I was on the ground with Shelob bending over me. She started winding..."  
  
"No, no, no, wait a minute...a giant spider...?"  
  
He shook his head and smiled. There was much to be explained and more to be told than the imagination could tell. There were more scenes of terror that the mind dared to paint and more tales of hope than all the rays of light could display. It would all be said, eventually. But for now, they were together, which was something they had yearned for an eternity. And for the meantime, swept away on tides of laughter, they wished for nothing more. 


	7. In Awe

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Shirebound: So many lines! I am so honoured you're enjoying this and making such bounce-inducing comments ^^  
  
Lily Baggins: Considering I worship yours, I am thrilled that you like my hobbits :-P Thank you so much for your lovely comments!  
  
MagicalRachel: Aw, thank you. I promise I will henceforth attempt to be a snuggly...angsty fic writer. But only if you promise me that you'll start writing something long and hobbit-filled very soon... Oh, by the way, I wonder if you notice the little green men reference in this chapter ^^  
  
Bookworm2000: You like them! You really do! Thank you; Frodo and Sam are central to this tale so it's great when they come across well. Please put that line in your bio, honestly, it suits you down to the ground :-)  
  
Lady Pheonix Star: Thank you! Although I'm not sure what you mean by the "soldier" part...Do you mean that I referred to them as soldiers? If so, I apologise, blame the fingers!  
  
Augh, I am so sorry for not updating. Been about ten weeks now *hangs head in shame and crawls back to writing pit* I must stop saying that I will try and update quicker because more often than not I never do. Well, hope this chapter turns out OK and that you wonderful people enjoy it.  
  
~ Chapter Seven ~  
  
Warmth was seeping back into Minas Tirith. It shimmered in the air and wafted the ash that once poisoned the land far away and back into the abyss that was Mordor. The grass broke free from clods of mud and billowed about like tiny green figures in the air, dancing and spinning amid the trees that were blossoming anew. Faramir plucked a blade from a scurry of wind and studied it with interest. It was how his companions often found him; within the shade of a tree, gathering earth or a flower in his hands, rolling it between his fingers and taking in every detail. Only today would they disturb him.  
  
"Sir," said a small flushed messenger boy, "I bring word from Ithilien. Of the Ringbearers."  
  
"The Ringbearers?" said Faramir, sitting up, restraining his instincts to shake the boy. The messenger was nodding and smiling.  
  
"Both have woken and they are well. King Aragorn-"  
  
"He hasn't come that far yet," Faramir pointed out.  
  
"I apologise- Lord Aragorn wishes that you return to Ithilien."  
  
The captain slumped unhappily back beneath the tree, dropping the grass in his hand back to earth. He sighed.  
  
"I'm afraid I cannot come," he muttered, "I have been confined to the house and this garden until the healers deem me fit enough to walk on my own two feet."  
  
The messenger grinned at him.  
  
"That is odd, Captain Faramir, as when I told them of what had happened, they insisted upon your going."  
  
He watched with interest as Faramir's face lit up and shattered into smiles and peals of laughter.  
  
--  
  
Gandalf was sitting on top of a large hill, beyond the pavilions and bustle of restless soldiers. His staff was propped up on his right knee and a pipe was protruding from his lips that, along with his hunched shoulders and deep frown, gave him a very thoughtful mannerism. He seemed to be looking far beyond the horizon and into the retreats of the world, some of which even elves were not aware of. He was listening, in point of fact. Listening to the wind and the news it brought from across Middle-Earth. It sang of what it had seen in songs that would never be recorded and rarely ever heard. But today, Gandalf closed his eyes to anything else and heeded only the chorus of the wind.  
  
"Gandalf," Pippin said brightly, "What are you doing? I've been looking for you for hours!"  
  
Gandalf almost bit through the stem of his pipe as his eyes flew open to meet with Pippin's curious gaze.  
  
"Meddlesome hobbit," he growled, but either the reply went unheard or was simply ignored, as there was no attempt made to leave him in peace.  
  
"Come on! I think it's high time you came back to Frodo and Sam, don't you? You can't keep wandering off to let them fend for themselves-"  
  
"I did no such thing!" the wizard thundered, on his feet in a trice and towering over Pippin like a storm cloud. "I did nothing but help Frodo. It was his choice! I played no part in it!"  
  
His friend was staring at him in terror, cowering down among the waves of grass, green eyes wide. He had just been witness to a great many emotions and one huge lie. But now, when he blinked away the last few visions of the furious magician, Pippin found himself in the shadow of a withered old man, leaning on his staff and looking thoroughly miserable. So Gandalf had not been as rock steady as the hobbit supposed. It had never occurred to him before that someone so very powerful and eminent could be victim to the same doubts as everyone else. Gandalf had never been everyone else before. But Pippin did not question this. Taking the wizard's hand, he let his companion lower himself down again, then he crawled into the white lap and sat there like a small sentry.  
  
They did not speak. The wind continued on its unseen road through the skies, now bearing news of a hobbit and wizard seated in Ithilien. But neither moved. Not until Pippin had let enough time run by for Gandalf to have gathered a few answers from himself.  
  
"Come on," he said quietly, "Let's go and see Frodo and Sam."  
  
And the two of them got up and walked silently down from the ridge back towards the striped pavilions.  
  
--  
  
Most people found it quite a surprise that, when completely rested, it was hard to get Frodo to sleep at all. He was bright-eyed and alert, pacing up and down inside the white tent, often walking through Ithilien with a cohort of worried healers parading behind him. In the end, they gave up trying to coax him into sleep and left it to Sam.  
  
"Master," the hobbit sighed, "If you go on like this much longer, I'm coming over there to pin your eyelids down myself. Being up and about's all well and good but you need your rest like the rest of us."  
  
"Honestly, Sam, I'm fine," Frodo protested. He was sitting cross-legged on his bed, reels of parchment spread out on his knees and a quill lodged between his inky fingers. The papers were a mess of notes and half- remembered songs. A sketch of Rivendell's tallest minaret coiled up the side of a page like ivy. _A Elbereth, Gilthoniel_ was inscribed below it and Sam knew all too well how much they represented. How many hardships those small words had seen him through. But he shook himself out of such ridiculous reverie. For he also knew that Frodo needed sleep.  
  
"Fine, you may be, but the shut-eye you missed out in Mordor, Frodo, I think you need to be making up for it."  
  
"Making up for it? I hardly think-"  
  
"You might not but I do," Sam scolded as harshly as he dared, "Now you ain't a child and I'm not going to treat you like one. But if you don't get your own self looked after then I'll act as if you are. And, if needs be, I'll get Merry and Pippin to help me."  
  
Frodo laughed musically, in a way that many had only dreamed of hearing. He shook his head then, with a sigh, began folding up papers and putting them back in the drawers by his bedside.  
  
"Whatever would I do without you, Sam?" he said with a smile, looking up at his friend, "No matter how many rebellious, mutinous ideas I come up with, you always manage to see me right."  
  
"It's because," answered Sam, "Deep down, Mister Frodo, you're an obedient hobbit."  
  
"Is that it? Well, I'll do my best to listen to my instincts next time. Though I warn you, I won't sleep one bit."  
  
He curled up a moment on the pillows and seemed as if he might make the effort to get up again but it seemed quite beyond him. His eyes closed. Fluttered open. Closed again. Stayed shut. Sam watched him with all the love he had when he had slept in among the weeds of Ithilien gardens. And he had never felt prouder. Suddenly, just then, with no real explanation for it, he was overcome with affection for his friend. Frodo Baggins, who had done so very much; bearing the fate of the world around his neck and fighting threatening darkness, only to be nagged about his lack of sleep. He, who had torn his feet on stones and crawled up a black mountainside, was now curled up beneath snowy sheets, hands beneath his head.  
  
Sam sat on his own bed and just watched Frodo sleep. He had only ever seen him in this light once before and he wanted to treasure it with his most sacred memories. He was in awe of what they had achieved; perhaps more so than any one else in the world could be. For he had been there. He had seen Frodo's eyes clear when the Ring was gone. He had sworn to protect him.  
  
"I'll save him, I'll not save you," he hissed.  
  
And in the darkness, the voices fell silent. 


	8. A Garden Memory

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Shirebound: I wish I had a magic way of predicting updates. Or, even better, a device that poked me and nagged me every day until I wrote the next chapter. In stories, I'm usually just as curious to know the ending as anyone else. Kings of the Horizon is currently lost in a lot of mist and it'd be nice to find time to draw it out again!  
  
Aemilia Rose: *hugs back* Please don't bang your head on account of my lousy updates! I will be better- Christmas holidays present opportunities galore! So pleased you enjoyed that paragraph of Pippin's thoughts- it was surprising how interesting Pippin's whole mindset is.  
  
Bookworm2000: I know what you mean by the clouded eyes- very creepy stuff. Heh. Muchos gracias for the comments! (Oh, I checked out your new bio- you simply rock ^^)  
  
Monica: Of course there is more! I can't stop now! This is going all the way to Aragorn's coronation and...maybe then...beyond...Wow, you'll love me forever? Thank you!  
  
MagicalRachel: ...Or, as I wrote it down as an abbreviation recently- MagRag...hmm...I do not rule, unfortunately, as I have not had an idea yet for you to angstify! But many congratulations on that beautiful Rosie fic- added it to my favourites as I think it is one of your best pieces of genius to date ^^  
  
Note: There are references in this chapter to my previous fic- Garden of the Moon. Please forgive the odd nature of this plot device. Things ought to start happening again in ch.9, coming soon...  
  
~ Chapter Eight ~  
  
"Make way..."  
  
Faramir came to a halt in front of the herald, who was quite startled that the Steward had not cantered past him.  
  
"Could you take me to the Ringbearers?" Faramir asked, hopefully. The herald nodded- not be put off- and started back into the crowded tents and pickets. He came to the tent and opened up the flap. Sam was sitting cross- legged on a rumpled bed, examining his hand with what appeared to be deep concentration. The herald cleared his throat nervously and the hobbit jumped back to the real world, face lighting up at the sight of Faramir. He jumped up.  
  
"Oh, you came!" he cried happily. The ranger was truly touched by the pure delight ringing in these words and ran to embrace his once-lost friend.  
  
"Sam..." he breathed, "You did it. You really proved me wrong, didn't you?"  
  
"Well," said Sam shyly, "That's probably a good thing in the long run."  
  
"In the long run.it has been so long. It feels like a whole age since I saw you last but, to my knowledge, it has been no more than three weeks. Samwise! It is wonderful to see you again!"  
  
In a burst of impetuous friendship, he swung the hobbit round as he would a child and then deposited him back on his feet with a parting embrace. Sam, though slightly ruffled, smiled up at him. It bewildered him, sometimes, why people were suddenly so pleased to see him when- as Sam saw it- Frodo had done all the work. Faramir straightened up and gazed round the tent thoughtfully, asking,  
  
"So where is your master? I heard that he had woken to and I would be most disappointed to miss him."  
  
"You're not staying long then?"  
  
"I fear not. Do you know where Frodo is?"  
  
Sam sighed and put on such a wearied grimace that the ranger almost laughed. The hobbit scratched the back of his head and frowned a little.  
  
"Well, to be honest with you, Captain Faramir, your guess is as good as mine. Since getting better and all, Mister Frodo hasn't slept one wink. It's as if he's making up for all those days he's been sleepin'. Last I knew, he was out walking with Gandalf but goodness knows where he might be now."  
  
"He is feeling well then?" Faramir laughed.  
  
"Oh yes! That's for certain sure," Sam replied with the flicker of a smile. But this gesture faded as he went on and a distant look came to his eyes, "It's odd. Sometimes.I think I can still see him.like he was in Mordor. I'll see it sudden-like and then it's gone again and he's back to proper Frodo." The mist seemed to clear and the smile hastily returned, as a sort of mask to Sam's emotions. "We'd best go and find him for you, Captain, he'll be more than pleased to see you. Oh, but sir." he stopped as he came to the entrance of the pavilion, turning to engulf Faramir with his anxious gaze, "You didn't really come that terrible long way just to see us, did you?"  
  
"Well, er.no, no, I had some business to discuss with Mithrandir that was most urgent. Though it would be far more pleasant to see your faces instead of his."  
  
Sam smiled with relief and led his companion from the tent, Faramir looking on with renewed love of such a wondrously pure heart.  
  
--  
  
Frodo breathed in the scent of the gardens and his mind filled with visions of the Shire. He stared listlessly at the sky and saw there misty blue memories, wreathed with cloud. How many times he had let himself fall into that abyss, lying awake those dark nights, searching for stars amid the fumes. He shook the thought from his head, saddened by the fact that nothing seemed to keep his mind from wandering to the past. A time when he still had the Ring.  
  
Gandalf coughed abruptly, drawing Frodo back to Ithilien.  
  
"Sam tells me that you've not been sleeping," he said, throwing the topic to the winds with a casual gait. Frodo smiled.  
  
"Yes," he replied, "Yes, that is true."  
  
"And why's that then?"  
  
There was a pause that, although easily missed by any other ear, was not lost on the wizard. "Oh, I'm just happy to be awake, I suppose. Perhaps all that sleep has allowed me a few days of constant wakefulness. Besides, I've so much work to do on Bilbo's book."  
  
The path widened out into a green rise, with a tangle of thorns to the right. The smell of pine trees and fir tinted the breeze. The spring sun was low and dazzlingly bright and it lit up even the tiniest crevice in the most insignificant leaf. To his surprise, Frodo was struck by how familiar the scene was. Though he remembered very little of the quest and its landscape, he recalled emotions. Fear. A sudden rush of adrenaline. He could hear his heart hammering wildly in his ears as he lay very still, listening to some close danger at hand.  
  
"Gandalf," he exclaimed excitedly, pulling on his friend's sleeve, "I remember this place! I think I've been here before."  
  
"This is most likely. Henneth Annûn is only a mile or so behind us. What do you remember?"  
  
Frodo frowned as he made his way round the patch of thorns, examining the earth, bringing back floods of memories with every stretch he covered. He ran a few paces up the hill and stared round. It was the view he could not forget.  
  
"The place where Gollum first left us," he said, "When we were chased by orcs down this very hillside." He laughed at a sudden recollection. "Poor Sam! As he fell, one of his pans came loose." As these words emerged, he saw Gandalf bending down and drawing out a rusted metal saucepan lying forlornly in a small thicket. The handle was nicked and the shine gone but it was the same, nonetheless. It had travelled the length of Middle-Earth only to be lost in a terrifying flight from the enemy. Frodo crossed the earth to his friend and took the thing gently in his hands, touching the rough surface that filled his heart with bitter joy.  
  
"What a trophy for dear Sam," he breathed, "And worth more than all the stars in the heavens."  
  
--  
  
".I'm Pippin and this is Merry. And I'm a knight of Gondor and he's a.well, he's a something of Rohan. What are they called in Rohan, Merry?"  
  
"You know, I don't think I ever asked. Captain Faramir, do you know what they call them in Rohan? Am I a knight too?"  
  
"Well, I, er."  
  
"Captain Faramir!" Frodo cried delightedly, dashing across the lawn towards the ranger, who was sitting cross-legged on the grass. Merry and Pippin parted to let their cousin greet Faramir and Sam stood to one side, looking at his feet.  
  
"Frodo, you look very well!" the captain laughed.  
  
"Thank you! The same for you, my friend. How lovely to see you again! It is good to see you in fairer times."  
  
The two hugged but, in doing so, elicited a pained cry from Faramir as something large and sharp dug into the small of his back. Frodo drew back with profuse apologies.  
  
"I'm so sorry, I completely forgot! Sam, look here, what Gandalf found! Now you know that those orcs didn't get it afterall."  
  
Sam took the proffered pan with quivering hands, tears filling his eyes as he clutched it to him. He was too overcome to speak. 


	9. Second Awakening

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
~ Chapter Nine ~  
  
Pippin had mentioned nothing of Gandalf's strange exclamation the previous day and was not about to. He had felt the same for a very long time; lost for answers. He shook his head, still amazed that even a powerful wizard could have any worries whatsoever. So he focused all his attention on Frodo. The hobbit was still writing reams of notes by watery candlelight.  
  
"I can't think what you have left to write about, cousin!" he sighed, wrapping his arms round his knees and leaning forward to look over Frodo's shoulder. Frodo glanced round at him.  
  
"Plenty! I'm still writing all that you and Merry told me but I've still to hear the tale from Aragorn, Gandalf, well, from everyone, really."  
  
"Could you read me some?"  
  
"Of course!"  
  
Frodo rolled over onto his side, meeting his cousin's curiosity with a wide grin. Then his eyes fell to the page and his lips brought Fangorn sprouting up around them, so that green leafy branches swung overhead and hooded wooden eyes watched them from every side.  
  
"'Where all had looked so shabby and grey before, the wood now gleamed with rich browns, and with the smooth black-greys of bark like polished leather. The boles of the trees grew with a soft green like young grass: early spring or a fleeting vision of it was about them...'"  
  
Merry stood by the tent entrance and wept. He could not help himself. It was beautiful. Just as pure and wondrous as Frodo's soul that breathed life into words. Even now, if he half-closed his eyes, he could see that clearing once again and Pippin's bright voice saying '...I almost felt I liked the place...' How long ago was that now? Ten, twenty years? No. The cold and the fear had lingered in him and his feet had pressed into mossy earth just a month before. How clearly it returned to him. Hurriedly wiping his eyes, he came into to join his cousins, plastering a smile over his memories with remarkable expertise.  
  
--  
  
Sam extinguished his candle and then drew back the covers of his bed, stepping thankfully into blissful warmth. Merry and Pippin were talking in low voices in the opposite beds while Frodo still adamantly wrote.  
  
"Please, Mister Frodo," Sam pleaded, "You'll damage your eyes if you go on much longer."  
  
"Can't, Sam," came the whispered reply.  
  
"But you must. You've got to or things won't come to any good."  
  
There was a long exhale of defeat and Sam could make out his master replacing the quill and parchment into the drawers beside him.  
  
"Very well, Sam. I'm sorry, it's just..." he let out another sad sigh, "Goodnight."  
  
"'Night, Mister Frodo."  
  
The little hobbit settled himself down, still facing Frodo as always, and let sleep claim him. No longer did he have to sit and keep guard from watching eyes or clutch his companion's frozen hand and soothe his fretful cries as he slept. They were safe. Almost home, as he had promised.  
  
--  
  
All about him was thick darkness. The wind swept in with a shrill scream and then died away. Sam sat up abruptly, fingers curled in the bedspread. He breathed out with relief. He was still there. In the gardens and safe. He remained there for a while, trying to clear his mind of any evil picture that might attempt to deceive him. It got him to wondering what had woken him. It was very odd. Things like the wind in the trees- a sound that comforted him more than anything- or the call of any nightly beast never roused him. So...  
  
Head filled with wishes and prayers that it would not be so (_You can't make it be him! Please let him be alright. Don't let him be hurting anymore_) he turned to the bed beside him. And Frodo's scream tore the night like blades. Sam tumbled out from under covers and sheets, blinded by tears, struggling to his feet and crawling up to where his master thrashed and shrieked.  
  
"Oh, Frodo, my dear, my dear..." he whispered, taking his friend's contorted hand and holding it to his heart, which fluttered madly and broke at the sight of the tortured hobbit. Another scream, as sheer and keen as glass, tore into his soul.  
  
"Sam, what's going on!" Merry cried. He was hurrying across and was at once at his friend's side. "What's happening to him!"  
  
"I don't know, I don't know!" Sam yelled at him. At his shout, he felt Frodo's fingers dig into his palm and an exhausted sob broke free from his master's mouth. He lay very still, wracked with tremors. Sam looked at him closely, just able to make out the wide glazed open eyes. Without looking up, he instructed Merry to go and find Aragorn quickly. Merry dashed out into the night, pausing only momentarily to gaze anxiously back at Frodo.  
  
--  
  
The king lay in peaceful dreams of gardens and of stars. High overhead, the most radiant of all these smiled down upon him and in his mind, he felt the gentle touch of his beloved and heard her voice, though faint, whisper to him as it came. 'Wake,' she breathed, 'Awaken, my love.' Aragorn was quite startled when Arwen's voice abruptly turned to a high and worried tone. He became aware of his surroundings, too late to stop himself rolling out of bed with a thump.  
  
"Merry," he sighed, "What on earth..."  
  
"Strider," Merry cried, slipping back into times when the same peril threatened his cousin, "Frodo is ill, I think. You must come, please!"  
  
Aragorn pressed his lips together and struggled upright. He grasped Merry's hand and they both ran from the tent, much to the consternation of the sentries. The two stopped outside Gandalf's tent and then ducked inside to find the wizard just about to leave. He stared at them for a moment and then nodded.  
  
"Take me to him," he commanded.  
  
--  
  
Dim light of dawn filtered its way into the crevices and openings of the hobbits' tent. Yet it did not stir the solemn guards from their posts at Frodo's side. He sat shakily with his back to the headboard, clasping Sam's hand and nodding whenever anyone asked if he felt any better. Aragorn and Gandalf were standing guard outside, making sure that no healers entered in that morning. This wound was deeper than they could even hope to remedy. The king turned to the wizard, darkness shading his eyes against the bright sunlight.  
  
"What does this mean?" he said, "It hasn't..."  
  
"No, no. Thankfully, for the moment, I think Frodo has merely suffered a frightening nightmare. But...it could be the reason why he has not been sleeping."  
  
"So Frodo knew about this? He could have told us! He should have!"  
  
"Aragorn," Gandalf reprimanded, "We do not know what he thought. I am simply suggesting it. And if he wanted to keep it from us, I am sure he had a good enough reason. Sam, for instance."  
  
"What about Sam?"  
  
"Think carefully. Would you wish to lay your darkest troubles and fears on the one you loved best?"  
  
Aragorn opened his mouth to make a reply but closed it again, retreating instead to his own thoughts. He had seen only briefly into his small friend's mind and even that had taken his breath away, and stopped his heart's beating. He looked up at the jagged black rise of Mordor mountains in the distant east. He dared not imagine the fear the hobbits had encountered there. But he wondered...had the fear been great enough, and the peril so intolerable, then either could easily imbed themselves in innocent minds. A long chafing line on the back of Frodo's neck still bore ugly testimony to the Ring. An echo of such a powerful trinket may have, quite effortlessly, implanted itself amid those dark curls, hiding in the darkest recesses of those luminous eyes. Aragorn shook his head angrily to himself. No! He would not let that happen! Not to Frodo! Not to Frodo...  
  
~  
  
ROTK inspired most of these two chapters so I've been quite floppy and useless while writing. Hope you liked them, nonetheless. Oh, yes, of course! And a very happy Christmas and (if my updater-prodder fails me again) a hobbit-filled New Year ^^ 


	10. Beholding a Wish

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Shirebound: I'm really pleased you're enjoying this. I'm so flattered you mentioned my description after seeing how breathtaking your own is. Hope you're happy to see this update too!  
  
Bookworm 2000: Yes, well spotted! Frodo's injuries were inspired by ROTK. How many times have you seen it now? I've only managed three... Gosh, I adore your tribute to Sam's pan. *Sam reads poem, blushes and smiles*  
  
FrodoBaggins87: Yay! Another Frodo and Sam fan! How glorious! Thank you very much for your comments. What you said about Frodo's dreams; I promise there will be more to them than just memories of the Ring and if you're not familiar with my other pieces of work, don't fret, I will angstify Frodo good 'n' proper ^^  
  
MagicalRachel: *hides* I'm sorry, I just...I can't _help_ myself! Frodo's too pretty not to suffer a bit now and then. Glad you enjoyed the Sam/pan scene; I thought he deserved a little recompense after Mordor. I am muchly looking forward to your updates. Any new ideas? Btw, just so you know, this chapter was written up in your beautiful notebook!  
  
Tavion: Well done! You spotted my ROTK inspired parts. You cried too? Heh, it was heartbreaking, wasn't it? Thanks a lot for your comments!  
  
Aemilia Rose: *Frodo nestles happily into Aemilia's hug* Hehe, your Frodo comfort is much appreciated! Yes, ROTK will never fail to be an inspiration.  
  
Happy New Year! May your 2004 be blessed and I hope a certain hobbit/elf/man/dwarf shows up to wish you well.  
  
~ Chapter Ten ~  
  
Frodo stared in consternation at the cup being proffered to him.  
  
"A sedative?" he repeated nervously. Aragorn nodded,  
  
"And some athelas, for good measure."  
  
"Of course," came the humourless reply. "But Aragorn, it is not trouble with sleeping. I could lay down and sleep at this very moment. It is...it's what I'll find in sleep. No athelas can reach there."  
  
"Frodo..."  
  
Aragorn turned his imploring gaze on Sam, who he could always trust on such matters concerning the Ringbearer. Unfortunately, this time, it was not to be.  
  
"I agree with Mister Frodo," he said hesitantly upon meeting the king's eyes, "I'm sorry and that but sleep isn't the trouble here."  
  
Aragorn sighed and lowered to cup to both hands. He let the contents pour onto the grass where it pooled and rippled in the verdant carpet. "So much for that idea," he exhaled. The hobbits, still gathered on Frodo's bed, looked awkwardly at one another. They looked half-expectantly at the man's back. At last, Aragorn got to his feet and rounded on his four friends. There was a slightly over-cheerful tone to his voice that made Frodo's heart flinch.  
  
"Well, I suppose we shall have to find a remedy that might end dreams and not interfere with sleep then."  
  
He smiled wanly at Frodo; his expression speaking words no lips dare utter, hiding a fervent curiosity with an unreadable mask as he strode from the tent. There was a quivering silence for a moment. Then Pippin whispered, with half-hearted joviality,  
  
"Isn't it odd what sorts of bizarre things happen outside the Shire then?"  
  
There was a soft passage of laughter that swept between them. Merry picked up on his cousin's attempt, saying,  
  
"What with walking trees, elves and giant spiders, I'm surprised that this isn't all one big ridiculous dream."  
  
"Imagine what my Gaffer'd say if I ever told him I'd walk right across Middle-Earth. He's got too much hobbit sense in him to approve of such things," Sam laughed.  
  
"But Rosie might approve," Frodo offered quietly, bringing colour to the gardener's ears at the mere mention of his long missed Rose.  
  
"Come with me," his master went on, with a smile, "I want to show the three of you something."  
  
--  
  
Frodo led them through the encampment, hardly aware of the fact his friends had gathered protectively about him. They walked along one of his many paths into a thick overgrown mesh of plantlife near the pool that yet flashed silver into their eyes. They slipped down a flowered embankment to find a stretch of beautiful crystal-like water. Lilies and fallen leaves drifted on the surface, like tiny dancers on cerulean glass.  
  
"This is the Nen Dîn," Frodo murmured in revered tones, "The silent water. It is where Gandalf brought you and I, Sam, while we slept. This is the first place he brought me when I had woken. And he asked me who I would speak to if I could...if I could send a message to one far away. He told me then that if I put my face close to the water and gave it my message and blessing then it would reach them."  
  
"How?" breathed Merry, staring deep into the mirror frame lodged amid the heather.  
  
"By whatever means Gandalf does everything; via riddles and with a little help from eagle."  
  
Caught in the splendour of Nen Dîn, Merry and Pippin bent to the water and sat in silent conversation for a great time. Frodo put a hand on Sam's shoulder. "I really don't know if it's true, Sam," he said, grinning, "But there's honestly no harm."  
  
"Oh, it ain't that," Sam answered with a blush, "It's just I was wondering who I should speak to. I'd dearly love to tell my Gaffer where I am and all but it's just your mentioning of Rosie...I can't make up my mind."  
  
"Sam, I am quite certain that these waters will gladly allow you more than one message. After all, it knows you from when healers bore you here. You are free to speak to both your father and Rosie."  
  
They smiled at each other then together knelt by the pool and joined their companions in the exchange of soundless words. Then, one by one, with infinite solemnity, the hobbits rose again. Pippin had tears in his eyes as he thought wistfully of his mother siting in the warm familiar space of home...so very far away... Merry put an arm round him and drew his away.  
  
Frodo finished next and took advantage of his moment absent of watchful eyes to look upon his left hand. It was trembling fitfully. He had gone to such pains to hide it; to save himself from curious questions that might open up aching wounds and expose himself fully to those he loved. He could not afford to do that.  
  
"Master?"  
  
He started, habitually covering up his hand at his friend's voice. "Oh, I am sorry. What did you say?"  
  
Sam looked anxiously at Frodo's face, which had hurriedly disassembled the emotions there at his call.  
  
"Why don't you head back now?" he said gently, "I'll follow on in a moment."  
  
"Alright. And don't worry about me, take your time here."  
  
Clearly understanding the hypnotic effect Nen Dîn had had on Sam, Frodo withdrew after his cousins, back to the world of time and haste. Samwise lingered still. There was one last message that he longed to be heard. Perhaps, he wondered, this enchanted place could allow his words to be heard.  
  
"Please Frodo," he murmured, his breath sending the water into tempered undulations, "Tell me what you saw in that dream. Let me help you again. Please let me in."  
  
Then he drew back on shaking legs and looked across the expanse of reflected light. He made a despairing wish to the Lady Galadriel, unaware that Frodo watched him from behind, his fathomless eyes filling with tears.  
  
--  
  
Merry and Pippin were sitting delightedly on one of the huge benches that were normally reserved for soldiers. Feeling thoroughly refreshed after their visit to Nen Dîn, they had persuaded Aragorn to let them eat with the rest of the army, so that they had an opportunity to pick up on the latest tales from Minas Tirith and Edoras. They sat there, swinging their legs elatedly and chattering nine to the dozen, leaping up and waving when Sam came in through the tent opening. The friendly men lifted the flustered hobbit up to join his companions where he sat awkwardly, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.  
  
"So, tell us," Merry demanded of the guards opposite, using one finger to jab accusingly at the breastplates and the other to grip his newly delivered tankard, "What of the Lady Éowyn? Has she fully recovered now? Faramir is being terribly quiet about it."  
  
"Well, I'm afraid we shall be quiet also," replied the nearest soldier, "For we know little of her welfare, only that she is out of harm's way and often seen in the gardens of the city. She is no less fair and no less stubborn in her will."  
  
"Good for her! I hope to see her very soon when we return to Minas Tirith."  
  
"You're leaving?"  
  
"Soon, or so Aragorn keeps telling us. As soon as he thinks Frodo is strong enough."  
  
"The Ringbearer is strong. The way he's been up and down Ithilien, I'm surprised he hasn't walked back to the city..."  
  
Sam listened to this without worry and with good intents. But he kept hearing his friend's scream in the darkness, tearing through the canopy of night, ripping into his soul. He winced at the memory and hoped all the more ardently that his wishes would be answered. Perhaps then he could let Frodo go back to being what he once was; that kind-hearted, courteous and moreover whole Baggins. Once, Sam thought had truly understood him. Now he was fading... getting further away... beyond even Sam's reach.  
  
Now it came to it, where was Frodo? He had left the pool before him and yet he had not seen him on the way to the tent nor did he seem to be here now. At once, he was taut with nerves and the back of his neck prickled. He touched Pippin lightly on the arm. "Peregrin," he ventured, hardly aware of the name he had used, "Has Mister Frodo come in yet? Have you seen him at all since he took us to that water?"  
  
The wide green eyes went even wider. Pippin shook his head.  
  
"No, I haven't, now you mention it. I wonder where he's got to."  
  
"But he set off before me!" Sam cried in growing anxiety. He jumped down from the bench, ducking under the table with a few muttered apologies and excuses then ran out of the tent. Pippin downed his drink and followed not a few seconds after. Merry was too absorbed in tales and just a bit too far- gone to take heed of this.  
  
Outside, Pippin followed Sam back to their beds, which were as empty as when they left them that morning. But neither of them were willing to be put off. They went to all the pavilions of their friends and asked with increasing alarm if any of them had seen Frodo. As a final resort, they skidded down the bank of the Nen Dîn and searched the undergrowth there. There was no sign. Back, forth, through again, clambering back the camp, in and out, round and around. Sam came to a halt at last, unable to go on with this mad chase any longer. He could feel it deeper within him. Something instinctive was telling him that they were not looking in the right places.  
  
"Why would he just run off like this?" he exclaimed in frustration.  
  
"Did he say anything to you, Sam?" Pippin appealed desperately, "Did he tell you anything at the pool?"  
  
"Well, no... but I saw something... like something in his eyes that I haven't seen there in a good long while and all the better for it. Just for a moment, I thought I saw it again. But then he was back to himself and I didn't think twice of it. Oh, but why would that drive him away?"  
  
"Perhaps we're overreacting," was the uncertain reply, "He might simply have needed some time alone. Most likely, he'll come striding back down that hill, all airs and graces, and tell us how silly we are for worrying."  
  
Sam's expression told Pippin exactly what he thought of the idea. Pippin swallowed and nodded.  
  
"Let's go and tell Aragorn," he said in a small voice. 


	11. East

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Shirebound: *hangs head in shame* I'm sorry, I'll try and look after Frodo better next time, honest. At least he's always got "Reflections of the Past" to snuggle into if all else fails  
  
Aemilia Rose: I hope this doesn't count as too long to leave Frodo missing and suffering ;P Aww, see the pwetty puppy eyes!  
  
Heartofahobbit: Thank you ever so much for your review! I'm glad you're enjoying Frodo's character; he's always fun to mess around with- OK, not the best choice of words but you know what I mean ^^ The description from Fangorn was actually straight from LOTR, so all credit goes to Tolkien, I'm sure he appreciates your lovely comments!  
  
Skye12: *squee-fest* Yay! Welcome back, almighty Skye! Am v jealous that you've seen ROTK 6 times already but I'm willing to let that go if you update "Imprisoned"... Hope you continue to enjoy this story. It's just lovely to hear from you again!  
  
FrodoBaggins87: Hmm, where could our little hobbit be heading? Heh, thanks for the review!  
  
Bookworm2000: 5 times? Auugh, not fair! I got to see it on the last day of the year but not since then...*suffering from withdrawal symptoms* We'll have to get Frodo back somehow, won't we, or you'll probably continue to embarrass poor Sam quite unforgivably ^^ !  
  
~ Chapter Eleven ~  
  
The bushes were illuminated with the light of Gandalf's staff but did not reveal any hidden face or extended hand. And the russet afternoon haze that slanted between the clouds showed even less. Here and there, the small company of wizard and hobbit could hear cries of Frodo's name throughout Ithilien. Every soldier, it seemed, was out hunting for the missing Ringbearer.  
  
"Samwise, you and I shall head east," Gandalf declared, the creases in his face lit by silver sconces amid the trees, "If we are fortunate, we may find Frodo by the mountains. Does that sound right to you?"  
  
"Me, sir?" Sam exclaimed, taken aback.  
  
"Of course! Who knows the mind of our friend better?"  
  
The hobbit paused his chaotic thoughts. Towards the east? Towards what? Why would Frodo go there? Then again, why should he have strayed in any direction?  
  
"East sounds as right as any place," he voiced to Gandalf, who gave a conciliatory nod. The two dived forward, each as fast as the other in their frantic search. There was no knowing what had caused Frodo to run. As sodden leaves writhed under his feet, Sam was brought back to when he had take this same road with Faramir, in similar circumstances. He had never, not in all his days, believed it would come again. That nightmare had awakened a great many doubts in his mind. It had opened up old wounds, if indeed those wounds had ever healed.  
  
Wind fanned out Sam's cloak and made his eyes water. He blinked hurriedly and looked up to Gandalf. The man of Istari had never looked truly old up until then. Oh, of course, his wrinkles and papery skin betrayed a certain age but now...he looked almost cadavorous. There was lingering dread in his deep-set eyes that Sam could only remember in the midst of raining ash and gulping fire.  
  
"Oh why'd you have to run, Frodo?" he whispered through hitching breaths, "Why didn't you say something..."  
  
"Samwise!"  
  
The hobbit jerked to a halt, Gandalf's hand clutching his shoulder. His staff was pointed towards the distant mountauns. Sam waited impatiently, eyes roving the landscape for any sign of what had caught his companion's attention so fully. He thought he heard Gandalf murmur something distantly, as if through the waters of Nen Dîn.  
  
"In fallen towers, one may find a fallen friend."  
  
It took a while for the little gardener to grasp the meaning of it but he had enough sense as any on this quest to realise what it may entail.  
  
"He hasn't...oh, he can't honestly have gone back..."  
  
"If Frodo goes to the ruins of Gorgoroth, it may help him understand that what he seeks can no longer be found. Come, Samwise!"  
  
"But Gandalf," Sam objected, "He said he was glad to have the Ring gone! Strider was right there when he did. He said he was glad to be rid of it!"  
  
"So he may be. But that does not release him from his desire for It. For a long time now, Frodo's being- his very existence- has been encircled by that wheel of fire. By whatever means possible, Frodo knows he must escape."  
  
"So he's escaping us?" Sam cried in alarm.  
  
Gandalf whirled round, eyes betraying thunderous intent.  
  
"He does not do it out of his will! It is not his doing! It is no one's!"  
  
--  
  
"They do not understand," he hissed as another branch slash his cheek. He could hear the blood drumming in his veins. He could feel the breath scraping his lungs. He ran through black woodland that obliterated the sky, all the while muttering and cursing to himself.  
  
"We cannot let them inside!"  
  
Now and then, he would halt in his tracks, his consciences battling to determine his direction.  
  
"Must go on! Must go back to It!"  
  
"No! There is nothing left!"  
  
"Then tell that to those who follow you."  
  
"I must not. They must not find you!"  
  
"They already see me, my love!"  
  
Then his feet would be tugged forward again, the darkness in him always overruling his own anxious protests.  
  
Frodo could not let Sam see what lurked within him. He could not allow his friend to see how bitterly he had been defeated by his task. He did not deserve the love and care he would be shown. But, ah, if he could see It again, lying in It's golden splendour in his hands. Just to see It...to hold It again with his shaking fingers... then perhaps all this madness would die. He might be saved! He might be delivered from nights ridden with visions. The nightmare had shown him the world where Sam was not present. Frodo had witnessed Ithilien as it was now. The Dark Lord had been vanquished. The Ring's reign over the hearts of Men had ended. But there had been no Sam to see it.  
  
Frodo swore he would finish this at last. He would fulfil his longing one last time and he knew above all sense that he would have no more need for the One Ring. Aragorn's voice fell dead at the door of his memories. It was not gone. Not yet. Not until he had seen It and let the age of the accursed thing wither. His hands met the cool stone of the mountain. His feet rested on the sliver-like pathway. Frodo drew himself up and onto the first slope. It would be worth it simply to have this life behind him and have hope restored. Pebbles skittered under his fingers and away down the rapidly increasing fall. No lasting taste of lembas on his tongue. No clogging smoke in his throat. No icy gales nor smell of rotting flesh on the breeze. He would cast his precious away and return to the camp, then Minas Tirith, then to the Shire. Frodo closed his eyes in silent reverie of that name. He would return to green hills, rutted pathways and rounded doors. Perhaps, even, to wave farewell to the last ships as they coasted out into the sea. And all would be righted.  
  
~  
  
I do seem to be focusing on a few characters, don't I? Hope that was bearable! 


	12. A Fool's Heartbeat

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Cstini: That's OK! It's lovely to know that you're still enjoying it after all this time. Frodo won't abandon Sam for too long, don't worry ^^  
  
FrodoBaggins87: *hangs head in shame* Gosh, I am so sorry. This just goes to show what a terrible planner of stories I am. In answer to your questions: you know the mountains between Ithilien and Mordor? Frodo is currently climbing up one of those in order to see Mordor again. His emotions are very screwed up at the moment, mainly due to the Ring's memory. It was something I read somewhere in a fanfic where the Ring had 'become part of Frodo's spirit'. It is still with him, in a way, if only in memory. What he is basically trying to do is touch the Ring one last time because he knows he only needs to do this once more for him to have the strength of will to cast it away. It is revealed in this chapter what has caused him to believe so fervently that the Ring is alive... Hope this answers a little of your confusion and, again, I am terribly sorry. I promise to plan better in the future.  
  
Aemilia Rose: I know! Poor Frodo! I really should treat him better but...you know...those big round eyes staring up in consternation as I send him on mad quests back to Mordor...can't resist ^^  
  
Heartofahobbit: I don't know if I successfully achieved it but your description of the Ring's effect on Frodo is beautiful! "Angst of the inner mind"; I wonder how many breeds of angst there are!  
  
Shirebound: Oh, Shirebound, surely you know that by now I would never send Frodo off with provisions and belongings because I am stupid Ailsa Joy who does not remember these things ;) Thank you for pointing it out and I think I will mention my stupidity in later chapters but blame it on Frodo because I am mean...  
  
Skye12: Sorry! I think the chapter was short because I wrote it all in shorthand and could not think of ways to lengthen it once on the computer. Yep! Can you imagine what Frodo would have done if he could have foreseen this? Run away and hide behind Sam? Heh. Speaking of angst, what a beautiful chapter of Imprisoned you posted. Glad you're back! Elámen has his whole family restored!  
  
~ Chapter Twelve ~  
  
Though distraught in this hunt for his master, Sam found he could not go any further. He forced his feet pace after pace but he could no longer ignore the wrenching pain in his sides and the sores blistering on his feet. He gasped in frustration as Gandalf grew all the more distant, his hat sometimes peaking the tall grasses then falling out of sight.  
  
"Come on, Sam," he chided himself desperately, "A little exercise never hurt no one"  
  
But despite his whole-hearted efforts, it continued to hurt. And ache. And pound. He collapsed in a futile heap, the ground rushing up to meet his jaw in an earthy pebbled wave.  
  
--  
  
Gandalf was beyond all awareness of Sam's presence. He simply knew, with an almost feral instinct, that he had to get to Frodo. He would be there in the Ringbearer's hour of need. He would be there as much as he had not been the first time round. When all hope failed and stars melted from darkening skies, Frodo had thought him dead and had not even sought comfort in the knowledge of the wizard's existence. Gandalf thought back to the Council and how, if he had had the wit or foresight to comprehend future events, he would have forbade the hobbits from setting another foot into the east. Frodo would never have been wracked with nightmares so vivid that they stole sleep from him.  
  
But no! he thought wretchedly. Not even that. What of the Morgul blade that now left its black wound in Frodo's spirit? That was his doing also. When Frodo had screamed for him into that fathomless night, h had skulked in Orthanc and paced like some haggard old man. All because he dare not touch the Ring.  
  
Would the risks have been greater? Yes. Would the Ring be kept secret? No. Would Frodo be spared?  
  
Gandalf fixed his gaze on the fast approaching mountains. It was a wall to a wilderness. He had seen it, seated on Gwahir, he had looked back over his shoulder and seen the abyss open up around Mount Doom. He had watched with saucer eyes as the flames trembled into darkness and rocks were crushed to sand on the ash-choked Gorgoroth. The dying spark of Barad-Dûr and the lone scream of a Nazgûl as its wings were torn to shreds. In a single glance, he saw the world's end, just as he had predicted. The only difference was, Frodo was alive. A thing Gandalf had long put out of all hope. He never imagined that pale, narrow hobbit would survive once his last task was done. He believed implicitly that Frodo would achieve what was asked of him but not without making an ultimate sacrifice in payment.  
  
It had assailed the wizard with wild frightening notions. More likely than thinking of how to revive his beloved charge, he had thought of how to explain to the Shire-folk that Mr. Frodo would not be returning...in one terrible moment of grief, when Faramir had ridden out to his doom, he had even come up with the words to say to his dying friend. Now they themselves had been plucked from possibility. For Frodo had survived.  
  
The ground was rougher on Ithilien's eastern border. He had to lean more heavily on his staff, watch more carefully the road ahead. But it was hard to do this through a blurry haze of unshed wonder.  
  
--  
  
Whenever Frodo believed he had come to the last ledge, he was proved wrong. There was always a little more mountain just beyond the sun-stained rocks. Here and there, he could spot wide crevasses torn into the stonescape, where earthquakes had pulled at these granite soldiers, yet guarding Mordor from view. And it was these that made Frodo begin to doubt. He remembered a crack in the rocks. An enormous broken slab jutting out over the drop. He could recall the smell of brimstone and a persistent hissing in his ear. Perhaps that was where the Ring was. The room where he might be rid of it. He could let it go; let it fall into...the fire...  
  
A scatter of stones escaped from under his sole and he stopped, fingers still clutching the ledge above. Aragorn had said the Ring was gone. Hadn't he? Yes...it seemed quite ridiculous now that he had forgotten. Not forgotten, not even that, why had he chosen not to believe it? Something in that dream. There had been something in that nightmare. All he could remember clearly was the complete absence of his friend and the bitter grief he suffered. Yet what had been calling through it all? What had convinced him? The gentle thudding and familiar pounding that seemed intertwined to his own rhythm of thought and emotion. Frodo's free hand crept to the space just beneath his collarbone in blind desire. A heartbeat.  
  
All through the nightmare, whether caused by his own pulse or someone else's, it had been there, distorted to that which was more dear to him than any. With renewed determination, he pressed down into the ground again and reached up.  
  
The Ring lived.  
  
--  
  
The cousins exchanged worried glances then looked up to Faramir. He was sitting astride a tall white stallion, appearing the very picture of a Steward, with the moonlight streaming in behind him.  
  
"We will head south, I think. Hopefully, we might find some clue nearer Frodo's original path."  
  
Merry's smaller steed shuddered against the frosty air and the hobbit held on for dear life, while asking Faramir with round eyes, "You mean, he may have tried to get back?"  
  
"He may well have. Something has made him flee and it has to be something to do with the Ring."  
  
"Perhaps something frightened him," Pippin said quietly, fumbling awkwardly with the reins before him, "Maybe he saw something that scared him away."  
  
In this dark tangled garden, it seemed possible for anything and everything to scare you into flight. No matter how much darkness had been staved off, night retained an indescribable terror that no army or ancient weapon could undo.  
  
"But what?" Merry replied, voice no more than a whisper. There was no answer for this, obviously and no satisfactory reason.  
  
This was madness...  
  
"We must not jump to conclusions," Faramir said at once, "It might not even be under Frodo's control to leave."  
  
All the more reason to believe he was drifting over the edge.  
  
"Come," the steward instructed, breaking any heretical lines of thought that may have been growing in that sheltered glade. The horses pulled away and turned down to the south, treading the old orc routes with some caution. Their riders' eyes continually scoured the undergrowth for a sign or shape that could help them retrieve their elusive companion. Merry turned sharply at a quiet sound nearby but it did not come from the woodland. He looked at Pippin's back, positioned rigidly on the pony in front. He was whispering fervently over and over. Merry did not have the heart to listen to these private wishes but instead cast his own up to the heavens. He hoped that the Nen Dîn could carry his words all that way to the elven ears of the Lady in her wood, where all wishes eventually went. 


	13. Insensible Reason

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it. ^^  
  
Skye12: I know, I am dreadful at story progression. In every sense of the word. But ya know, I try. Mad!Frodo should be a little closer to Mordor now. After his nightmare and hearing Sam voice his doubts, not to mention the loss of the Ring, I reckon Frodo is just beginning to lose touch with reality. Forgive me for slow updates; I cannot even begin to compete with your marvellous superb wonderful influx of Imprisoned chapters *bows before you*  
  
Rabidsamfan: You love guilt-ridden Gandalf? Fantastic! I really enjoy messing with Gandalf's character. Please do read Shirebound's drabble. It is so simple and yet so beautiful.  
  
Bookworm2000: That's OK, FF.net is very weird and often Fido eats reviews. I know; Gandalf is going to be weeping like a girl when I've finished with him *smiles evilly and sends Gandalf cowering into a corner*  
  
ShireElf: So pleased you're enjoying this so far! Hope it continues to be such a delight; your review melted my insides, thank you!  
  
~ Chapter Thirteen ~  
  
His hands suddenly ran out of mountain. To his left, there curved away the final peak of rocky precipice but no more pathways or tracks for him to follow. Frodo swore under his breath. He had to get through. He must, he must, he must... his eyes fell upon a sliver of a ledge stretching out before him. It seemed to be the only way across, although Frodo eyed the black tear of crevasse below it with deep misgivings. Even through his veiled single-mindedness, he could still see the serious risk it posed. But there was hardly an option of going back. He verified this with a quick glance over his shoulder to where Ithilien was half hidden by looming cliffs. He reached forward awkwardly and stepped out. The ledge held. He moved slowly, almost on his toes, inching his way over the fissured granite, bracing himself against the mountainside. Then suddenly, he was across, and the ledge widened out and returned to the path. Frodo stopped to still his racing heart and almost choked in the process, his eyes falling upon the land beyond his mountain.  
  
Whole slabs of earth lurched up from their places, so that the land looked like a piece of smashed crockery. Smoke was still billowing out from various cracks and crevices and here and there, fires were lingering on what remained of the weeds and shrubs at the fringes of Mordor. Distantly, through a cloud of noxious fumes, Frodo could just make out the silhouette of Orodruin itself. Mount Doom had listed predominantly to its right, so that lava dribbled out over its charred crater and oozed into a cooling heap that spread across about an acre before giving up and letting itself be sucked down into the black pits encircling the mountain. It was eerily quiet and the hobbit's ears rang unpleasantly. He recalled always the violent shaking of the ground that had constantly grated the stones and sifted the ashes into a cacophony of noise. All that was left seemed to be a dull rumbling, like that of dying thunder.  
  
"So you see it now?"  
  
Frodo yelped and spun round, teetering once more over the gorge. Standing on the shelf from where he had just come, Gandalf stood like some white mercenary. One hand rested lightly on his belt and the other clutched his staff, propped by his side. He was staring at the hobbit with a mix of relief and disappointment; an expression that only Gandalf could really master. It was a look plain enough to Frodo, who backed fearfully away, steps yet leading him inexorably to the Black Land. Somehow, his mind could not register the wizard's presence, could not comprehend the entirety of him, as if he was too complicated a-problem to comprehend.  
  
"What did you say?" he asked hoarsely.  
  
"Can you see what has become of what you seek?"  
  
There was a stiff, aching silence, broken only by that low drone of failing landscape. Frodo's eyes flickered sideways and he licked his lips.  
  
"I know what I see," he answered guardedly, "I understand it. Why have you come?"  
  
"Oh, it is purely curiosity that drew me. You, however, seem to be here on some errand. With purpose of sorts."  
  
Frodo felt a stab of anger. Gandalf was playing with him! Speaking like he would to a child!  
  
"Yes, a purpose," he retorted, with diffident forcefulness, "And you shall not hinder me."  
  
"Oho, is that the case?" Gandalf chortled and leaned on his staff in a casual stance, as if dealing with the pettiest of matters. "You forget," he said, "That you are a small, insignificant hobbit with very little in the way of strength. And, I might add, your use of logic against me is quite shaming. You use no evidence to support your actions, nor do you give reason to your threats. You disappoint me, Master Baggins!"  
  
"Very well. It is my choice to be here no longer. My reason: I have a purpose. My intent: to find what I seek. There. Be content with that!" Frodo spat. His eyes glinted with madness. He turned abruptly and started on down the track once more. But he was stopped within moments by a wall of sorts, but one he could see. He struggled as the force came around him, sealing him onto a patch of rock and gently turning him back around to meet the wizard's scrutiny.  
  
"Let me go!" he cried.  
  
"Frodo, it is not me..."  
  
"Let me go! Let me go!" the hobbit screamed. But instead, his feet drew him back to the crevasse and across its crumbling side until he stood in the dazzling white shadow of Gandalf.  
  
"There is sense left in you still, Frodo. That is all that called you back," the wizard said quietly. He extended his hand and cautiously took the small fingers in his own. "It is gone. Even you can see that."  
  
Frodo tore his hand away in a fury and he had to catch himself from falling.  
  
"No! Just because you say it, that doesn't make it true! It lives, I can feel It inside me." He grabbed his companion's arm and pressed the palm to his chest. "You can feel It, can't you? Two heartbeats! It's there! Somewhere waiting in Mordor. I can find It and then be rid of It for good. Well? Speak! Say what you feel!"  
  
Gandalf was staring at his hand resting on Frodo's quivering breastbone, feeling one heartbeat and one alone. The charade had returned the beloved hobbit back to him, coaxed the reason back into his mind, but he had no idea what the Ringbearer was really feeling or thinking.  
  
"Frodo, I am sorry," he whispered.  
  
The blue eyes widened. It was too much for Gandalf. When he looked into those eyes, he saw only reflections of gold and of fire. The heartbeat that Frodo felt would be nothing more than an echo of that seductive song. It wound about Frodo's soul and melded it into a burnished circle. And Gandalf knew his own lie. He had wanted it, needed it to be somebody else's fault. But the wraiths had not put the Ring into Frodo's care. No orc had sent him off without direction or clear instruction. Not even Sauron had made it His task to put him unaided at the very lip of the Cracks of Doom.  
  
"I have sent you to your doom," he murmured, voice breaking, "I have pretended, I know. I have watched you and done nothing for fear of what you will make of me. For the fear that you will always think I abandoned you. And who is to say I have not?"  
  
Frodo had not blinked during this time. He was watching in fascination, willing himself to look away but, like his own logic carrying him over the crevasse, he seemed to have no such power. Instead, he opened his mouth and fumbled with words to say, with doubts constantly pecking at his tongue even as he did;  
  
"I say."  
  
Gandalf was quiet. He pulled back a little, hand removed from Frodo's heart but the hobbit quickly halted him, clasping him at the wrist.  
  
"I say," he said, more determinedly, "You sent me no where. You did not speak at the Council, did you? It was my choice. It was my burden. It still is...unless..." here, he appeared to falter. He felt his insides give a sudden icy tug as he remembered Aragorn's hesitant words and Gandalf's own just a few minutes ago. He could feel a dark realisation beginning to form. "I shall never be rid of the Ring, shall I." It no longer held any question. If perhaps, It had survived, as he wished, then he could simply pick It up, hold It one last time and then cast It away and be himself once more. But the heartbeat was not failing. Intertwining with his own pulse and beating against his ribs just as he said. "I will never be able to let It go."  
  
They walked in silence to the edge of the mountain. In the dark, Frodo thought he could make out a white shape on the rocky ledge, waiting patiently on the shattered pathway.  
  
"I called him," Gandalf whispered, "I called him to bear two riders. Have you seen all you need to?"  
  
"Yes," Frodo answered in an exhaled breath. He did not once dare look back over his shoulder. And if he closed his eyes while they rode back down, he thought, perhaps...perhaps he could forget the Ring for good. He was startled then when Gandalf, stooped to lift him onto Shadowfax's back, paused, a look of pure horror on his face.  
  
"I asked him to bear two riders."  
  
"Yes?"  
  
"Two is us. Three is Sam..."  
  
~ Forgive me; I'm so sorry to leave updates so late but I've been down in hobbit country, New Zealand. I have written things! Honest! And I'll be good and post them soon. Thank you so much for your reviews while I've been away ^^ 


	14. Star to Guide Them

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it.   
  
Bookworm2000: Just for you, I shall return to Sam. I think I have neglected him far too much, you're right. See? I'm not being completely evil   
  
Skye12: "Insatiable wench", am I? Sorry, I shall try and pretend I've forgotten about NZ for you. I am thrilled you liked Mordor's description (coming from you, my friend, that is the highest compliment) I'm very glad I managed to please you in terms of character portrayal because lately they seem to have been drifting in and out. Thank you very much for your poking. If it were not for that, I am sure this chapter would have taken an even longer time in coming hugs  
  
FrodoBaggins87: buries head in hands and wails I am so sorry, I tried so hard not to make it anymore confusing. I promise now, I promise faithfully that the chapters won't be half as confuzzling. As Shirebound very aptly suggested, I now have a goal to work towards. My characters have one road to follow and I refuse to let them go off at a tangent again. So very sorry!  
  
Shirebound: hugs Frodo for you I know, poor both of them! Stuck on a mountain without any food. Considering how much I love them, I do seem to put them in impossible positions.  
  
Szhismine: I know! Hasn't Gandalf got a one-track mind? Very foolish wizard. So pleased you're enjoying this and I apologise for the lengthy delay in updating!  
  
ShireElf: Heh, thank you very much (for both hugs and compliment), you're too good to me   
  
I am dreadfully sorry for leaving this story for such an appalling long time. I think that if Kings of the Horizon was happening in real time then Frodo could have reached the Grey Havens by now! Well, thanks to Skye's prodding for an update, I have had an idea...There is a little scene I refer to which is from Garden of the Moon but I don't think you have to have read it. But there is a line stolen from Romeo and Juliet here, one that touched me very much when I saw the play  
  
Chapter Fourteen   
  
Afterwards, all Sam would remember was light. Drowning out the darkness like quicksilver and pouring into the very origins of shadow. It was gone a soon as it had arrived but Sam still had to blink to focus once more on the night sky. He had little recollection of his fall, but for its terrible timing.  
  
"Gandalf?" he tried to call but his voice could not struggle past his lips. His whole body felt leaden. Strange then how, with apparent ease, two slender hands passed under his back and under his knees and lifted him up. Sam blinked again in the face of Arwen's dazzling smile. She called something in elvish over her shoulder and more of her people appeared. A group of tall elegant shapes cut into Ithilien's deep dark. Sam thought he was being wrapped in silk, but that was impossible, he thought, why would they wrap him so securely and so warmly? All he could see was Lady Arwen's face, her profile as she spoke to one of her companions. Then her eyes came to rest softly on Sam's and it was all he could do to catch his breath.  
  
"Samwise," she asked gently, "How came you here? Do you remember?"  
  
"Gandalf...we were following Frodo...weren't we? I'm sorry, milady, I don't know but it's gotten awfully blurry in my head."  
  
"Ah, that would explain what we saw on the mountains as we rode," Arwen replied in a voice that sounded like it was part of silence.  
  
"Would it? I'm sorry, milady, I can't make..."  
  
Arwen turned his head a little so he could see the dim flickering shape moving down the base of the distant rock-face. Even as it disappeared into the rise of the grassy verge, Sam thought he could feel the drumming of approaching hooves reverberating beneath him. Still too groggy to understand why, he felt a surge of complacency wash over him, as if things had righted themselves while he had been lying in slumber. Yet even as he watched, elves began passing into his line of vision, hailing the rider with their musical voices. Sam struggled to comprehend how on earth he had fallen behind so quickly and why he could not remember the elves coming. In the end, he was so confused that he allowed himself to drift backwards into Arwen's arms and gaze up into the heavens, where no complications seemed to assail the stars.  
  
--  
  
"He's alright? Oh, thank you, Lord Elrond, thank goodness for that!"  
  
"It is Arwen who saw him," Elrond replied to the wizard, helping he and Frodo down from Shadowfax, "It was she who called for us to halt."  
  
Frodo looked clearly anxious to see his friend and the elven lord sensed this.  
  
"Come with me, Ringbearer," he offered, extended his hand slightly. Frodo took it gratefully and allowed himself to be led to his gardener's side. He was lying in the Evenstar's arms, her cloak curled about him and his eyes half-closed with exhaustion. Frodo knelt beside her, too glad to see Sam to be overwhelmed by her presence and contented himself whispering nonsense into his ear.  
  
"...why not wait in Minas Tirith?" Gandalf was asking, his eyes still lingering on the two hobbits, so nearly parted again.  
  
"Ah, that is my daughter again," Elrond confessed, "When she saw you and the rest had not yet returned to the city then we carried on. It seems a few more followed our example. Why have you left it so long?"  
  
"Frodo has only recently been regaining his strength and...well, then this, of course." The eyebrows ducked lower and he let out a long breath. "But I do believe things should return to something resembling normal. We are ready to go back and, with some good sleep and plenty of Sam-tending, Frodo should be the same."  
  
"Good. Then come, Mithrandir, Arwen can carry them both on her steed and we will ride to the encampment."  
  
With a brief nod of acknowledgement, they parted to alert the elves to their leaving and the company began climbing back onto horses.  
  
"Come," Arwen whispered to Frodo, rising up to tower over him, "You may ride with me."  
  
She bore Sam to her pale mount and lifted he and Frodo up to sit before her. The horses moved with one accord and no one could tell which hoof had been the first to lift. The lanterns were lifted to swing before them and spread silver on the undergrowth. The path to Faramir's hidden glade.  
  
--  
  
Night was waning when they finally returned to the hideaway. Soldiers streamed out from behind the waterfall. Aragorn, wearied by his search, had dropped down onto a bench outside one of the horse corrals. Only when the commotion began did he glance up. He sat bolt upright and gasped at the sight.  
  
"Arwen!" he exclaimed, "But this...how did you...this is as if..."  
  
Arwen smiled at him and the birds, to Aragorn, might well have stopped singing for thinking it was not night. He got to his feet but instantly found his mouth covered by a firm slender hand.  
  
"Later," she breathed.  
  
She took him by the hand and led him gently away through the grass that seemed to part just for her. Upon reaching a tall white tent, she drew back the partition of cloth and let the king gaze within. Two exhausted looking hobbits had been lain down on their beds. Sam was fast asleep, only a few stray blonde curls escaping from under the covers. Frodo, not a few feet away, had evidently lost conscienceless in the middle of a book, for he was draped back over pillows and cushions, his thumb lodged between the pages of The Silmarillion. Gandalf looked up from his vigil and nodded at Aragorn. Arwen let the curtain fall again, leaving her betrothed feeling quite dumbfounded.  
  
"But when did this happen?" he whispered in amazement, "Where did you find him?"  
  
"Gandalf found Frodo on the border between Ithilien and the Black Land. From what he told my father and I...it seems he had not come to terms with the loss of the Ring."  
  
"I should have seen as much."  
  
She looked at him sadly.  
  
"And what would you have done for him? At least this way, he now understands. He will never be rid of it. Not wholly."  
  
Aragorn thought he should have realised. He felt ashamed at not seeing it, but somehow, not surprised. The withered shadow of Frodo that had returned from Mount Doom was not that which had ventured towards it. It was the same face, the same body, same hands and feet, but it was a spent form.  
  
"There is nothing I can do for him now," he whispered, suddenly aware of how cold the night had become. His eyes drifted to eastern mountains and wind-swept grassland. "My aid cannot save him."  
  
"Let him forget," Arwen replied. She gently folded her arms around his neck and looked at him pointedly. "Let him forget and go on as he would want. Do not let It drag him down. Treat him as you would a hero, not paying reverence to a corpse." She placed her lips close to his ear and her warm breath seemed to pull away the chill starry cords entwining Aragorn's heart. "He is not lost yet."  
  
--  
  
On their journey south, Faramir and the two other hobbits had come across a few other signs of Frodo and Sam's original path. A small fire here and the remains of a meal hidden in the grass. The horses struggled up a steep hill to overlook the gardens and then down and out across the plains. Unfortunately, in the glimmer of morning light, when they came to the point on the other side of Osgiliath, where the hobbits should have met with crossroads, the route was blocked. The great statues of kings had collapsed on top of the other, sending their crowns of white flowers into undulations amongst the blackened trees. The way was shut. No hobbit, or anything bigger than a horsefly could make their way through there. Merry and Pippin halted there for sometime, in silent memory for the fallen kings. Faramir turned his steed about as they paused, examining the journey back. He imagined he saw the fair glimmering of Minas Tirith, silhouetting Éowyn's shape against its white walls. But, of course, how could he possibly have seen that? How indeed...  
  
"It is time we started back, I fear," he said over his shoulder.  
  
His companions nodded, Merry leaning across to speak softly to his cousin, who nodded stiffly and blinked against an onslaught of emotion. They followed him back along the road in relative quiet. Over the past week or so, birds had started to return to the wooded spot, and faint songs murmured through the ruins of stone and glade. The whole place felt as if it were reviving, without any aid from mortal hand. Life was flourishing golden and green, in a garden that had seemed long bereft of spirit. 


	15. Voices

Disclaimer: AU Story. Based on Shirebound's wonderful drabble, "Grace"; much thanks for her permission. The characters and settings continue to belong to Tolkien. But the plot is mine and I very much hope that you enjoy it.

I can only say that I am finally finishing the story and that it will updated in full soon. If you have completely lost track of this story, I cannot apologise enough for the enormous delay. But here you are, a very gentle, hopefully revealing chapter of 'Kings of the Horizon'. Thank you to all who reviewed, I will answer your posts at Chapter Sixteen.

Chapter Fifteen

Morning was like a blaze of lightning through a storm cloud. The camp was quiet for longer than usual. The sky was not clear but a still grey, breezed with gold and silver. Ithilien was a harbour of life, where the world seemed to pause for a moment, before wending on its way. The tents flapped gently over the scars in the soil; of discarded swords, of dented shields, of landing eagles...

There was a sudden, startling explosion. Aragorn woke abruptly from his bench out in the open, eyes wide, hand already at his belt and wondering wildly why on earth no one was attacking. As he slowly came back into consciousness, there came another riotous outburst of noise. Kicking off the blanket someone had kindly draped over him, he jumped up from his perch and ran across the lawn to the source of the sound. He found a guilt-ridden Faramir standing by the opening of the hobbit dwelling. He cringed visibly at the sight of Aragorn and almost fell over himself in his instinct to bow, which only now came upon him in his moment of shame.

"Lord Aragorn," he apologised, "We only arrived minutes ago. Minutes! And when they told us of Frodo's fortunate retrieval..."

"_Argh_! _Pippin_!"

"_Well, you deserve it ten times over, you ridiculous hobbit_!"

"...and of Sam's," Faramir carried on uselessly over the cries from within, "I swear, Aragorn, I tried, I honestly-"

"_…half way to Osgiliath and back…_"

"_So we're going to make sure you stay right where you are_..."

Aragorn sighed and gave Faramir a half-smile.

"I am sure you tried your very hardest. But not a man in Gondor could hold those two back."

"_Sam_!" came a strangled cry.

The king hastily ducked inside, ready to untangle whatever fray had ensued between Merry, Pippin and their cousin. Surprisingly, when he entered, the hobbits had desisted and Frodo was sitting up in bed, still bleary from his rude awakening, The Silmarillion still balanced precariously on his lap. Things became apparent when Aragorn noticed that Sam had come to his master's aid and was now standing on the opposite side of the bed, talking, seemingly, to his feet.

"I'm sorry, sirs, I know you've had a right runabout, same as the rest of us. If it's any consolation, you can have my breakfast today. But Mister Frodo needs a full day of sleeping if I'm to see to it..."

"Really?" said Frodo, hopefully.

"Alright," said a sullen voice from out of sight, "Sorry to have woken you, Sam. We'll leave well alone today."

"Thank you," Sam and Frodo answered together with equal relief.

Merry and Pippin rose into view, putting on masks of mock outrage.

"Well, if one cannot attack a long lost cousin, one is surely abusing his station as relation and confidant," Merry commented dryly, in a splendid impression of his least favourite aunt.

Pippin tried to pluck up the nerve to continue the game but he was too relieved to see his friend back and well again. He threw his arms round Frodo's neck, kissed him on the cheek then departed with Merry.

"Good morning!" said Aragorn to the remaining pair.

Sam and Frodo smiled back and wished him a pleasant morning too. It was almost Rivendell again; the man recalled vividly of being told of Frodo's recovery, running to the room and being greeted with a warm smile and a genial greeting. As though nothing had changed. Such is the most pleasing aspect of hobbits.

"How did you sleep, both of you?"

"Sam, I think better than I," Frodo replied, grinning at his gardener, who, in comparison, seemed oddly quiet.

"We slept well enough, thank you, sir," he muttered. He caught himself making his bed and had to fold back all the sheets once more to climb back under. Even then, the listless discomfort on his face did not subside. Aragorn made a mental note to ask after Sam's welfare later that day- till then, perhaps a lie-in would do the both of them the world of good. He bid them a good rest, saying,

"I will make sure you are not disturbed."

Coming out of the tent again, he found Faramir just about to set off after Merry and Pippin. The steward came to a halt when Aragorn emerged.

"How are they?"

"Well enough as to be expected. Frodo seems...himself again, which is a thing to be grateful for. Sam is less so. But he seems certain enough that what they both need is a good long sleep, like before. Will you come with me to find some guards to stand outside?"

Faramir wavered slightly on his feet. Aragorn could see the thoughts stumbling across his face, bumping into each other as they determined to become coherent. He opened his mouth slightly to ask for a repetition of the question but Aragorn stopped him.

"Forgive me," he apologised, "What on earth am I doing? Go. Lie yourself down somewhere quiet and have the day for yourself."

He clapped the man on the shoulder then deftly turned him round and guided him in the opposite direction towards the nearest tent.

--

"This is all you have to relate?"

Elrond's face was cool and unreadable. His eyebrows rose slightly whenever Gandalf spoke, which was quite unerring, as if he found it constantly alarming to hear of the things that went on in the world. The wizard nodded in answer to the question:

"I do not believe that Frodo will attempt anything else. If not at peace within himself, he may well be too exhausted to try again for the Ring."

They were sitting out on the hillside and had been there since the sun rose, had been there even as it crested the horizon and bloomed in the sky. Gandalf was smoking quietly while Elrond was content simply to sit and observe him through serene grey eyes. His face was slightly bruised in places, no doubt keepsakes of the long journey from Rivendell. His robes were muddied round the hem; a thing Gandalf had rarely seen among elves. They always looked so pristine and tall. But, if it was possible, since they had last met, Elrond had grown visibly wearier. He was like a being passing into the Autumn of his time; an age of fallen graces and windblown memories, that seemed all the more poignant so many years ahead.

Here, they felt at ease to rest. The company of one another being enough and the conversation just as pleasing. Gandalf had described as fully as he could how Frodo had been since returned from Mordor. The death-like sleep that he had entered and all the weights that had pressed on his mind since then. It was only now, in this silence, that Elrond thought it the time to raise a subject that had been darkening his own mind.

"You feel different, my friend," he said, "You do not speak in the same way nor act in a manner I thought common with you."

"Do any of us?" Gandalf muttered, chewing on the stem of his pipe and squinting out at the middle-distance.

"No," Elrond mused, "But when you speak of Frodo, I see...there is a greater change there than with any other you spoke of."

"Elvish nonsense."

A raise of the eyebrow, but he would not be turned aside so easily.

"I think not. My friend, you are ill at ease. Come, we are in a peaceful garden. The night has passed. You are free to speak. Do not hide something when wizards have not the ability to keep their secrets."

Gandalf blew out an angry ring of smoke and snorted.

"Our secrets are kept well enough. It is just prying folk of Rivendell that happen to come across them and wonder at them, like a child with a locked box. 'Oh," he mimicked mercilessly, "Oh, what can this box hide'? Cannot keep their secrets indeed."

"Then will you please give me some clue as to this hesitancy?"

Gandalf bit down on the pipe stem so hard that he left marks in the wood. He glowered sidelong at Elrond and said, in a way entirely altered from his original light tone,

"I have come to terms with what I can. Frodo has a far greater price to pay, with a shadow of a Ring dogging his steps. It is I that come away with understanding of the world. All that he must have gained is a greater loathing for it. All he learnt..."

Elrond's mouth straightened into a thin line. It was clear he had gained all the answer he required. He reached out with an audacity alien to most of his kind and touched his companion on the knee.

"There is no need for this emotion. If any other man or beast had asked it of them, Frodo would have taken the Ring. If you had entrusted It to anyone else in Middle-Earth, or even in the Shire, I do not believe they would have succeeded in the Quest. There is no need."

His look changed and he observed the wizard quietly, who was self-consciously fiddling with his pipe and scraping out the dregs of weed from its bowl with his forefinger. The elf went on,

"And though you think you have not suffered, there is much change here. You have lost a great deal in this war. Tell me, what happened when you travelled through Mordor? It is something, I can see."

"Another box you've found to shake, Lord Elrond?"

Gandalf sighed and looked down at the slender hand upon his robe. His gaze seemed to travel earthwards, down through the lattice of dust and grass and trodden leaves to the other side of the world.

"I lost my voice. The Mordor air sucked all my languages from me as we flew from Mount Doom. I...I lost my voice," he whispered, and the breeze stole away the rest of his words.


End file.
